Going Ahead to Galilee
by Dannemund
Summary: Maggie vows revenge after she gets shot in the head; along the way she looks up her sister Carla, and gets saddled with her grief-stricken husband. Nefarious plots, fist-fights, and the Legion strive to make her life difficult. Never, ever, betray the Family! Rated M for innuendo and violence, oodles of cursing, and sexual content. (Complete?)
1. That Son of a―!

**Edit (12-21-15):** Due to some major continuity problems and various other issues, I've gone over GATG and identified some problems. Mostly it was just minor plurality issues (dropped or added), or sentence restructuring, but I opened up a _real_ big plot hole and it had to be fixed. I went back and edited a few concepts for consistency, because I noticed a problem there. Italics might have been moved around or removed, as well, so the nature of the beast is slightly different... but it's still Maggie.

I'm at Chapter 33 in editing, please bear with me

* * *

Maggie remembered the exact moment she wanted to _kill_ that good-for-nothing husband of hers.

She would _always_ remember. You just didn't _forget_ someone _shooting you in the face!_ She was going to kill him, so help her _God_ ―she would be a widow before the end of the goddamn _year!_ That son of a bitch _set her up!_ She tossed back another shot of whiskey and growled to herself.

She'd been borderline alcoholic, before. It pushed her over the edge when she woke up in that dumb little town called Goodsprings. Woke up being talked down to by the town doctor like she was an imbecile and hadn't got two rocks to rub together in her head. Oh, she would've―she would've liked to give that man a _proper_ thrashing, but she knew better. He had helped, really, even if she wanted to kill the first person she saw when she woke up.

After all, murder was most properly reserved for those who _deserved_ it, yes? The Family taught her that. Once doesn't simply run about murdering people just because one is angry. One works up to murder, makes them _earn_ it, and then one makes money from it.

Oh, and she was _going_ to, so help her God, so _help her―_

 _She was going to make a shitload of money off that rotten, no-good, piss ass, calculating motherfucker that she had married!_

...Just as soon as she got out of _this_ hellhole, and back into the hellhole she called _home._

Maggie sat in the saloon in Goodsprings. She was weighing her options. Her head, newly unadorned of a lead piercing, was banging like a drum as she slammed back shot after shot of whiskey. The booze wasn't going to help, but she couldn't stop herself; she knew she had a problem. So far, it hadn't gotten her _killed―_

Maggie snorted. She sure as shit wasn't drunk when that slimy bastard shot her in the _head!_

There was an argument behind her that she paid no mind to, but she had no money so... maybe she _ought_ to. Maggie pushed herself back and turned to look at the asshole arguing with the saloon owner. Some idiot in blue and black, like a big fucking _bruise_ walking 'round the wastes.

She opened up her straight edge and watched it catch what little light there was in the saloon. A nice little shave would do this man some good―not his hair, _neither._ She grinned to herself maliciously, and listened to the argument. Looking for some guy named Ringo. Wanted him given up, threatened the town.

"Aw, now, that's all wrong," she muttered. "You can't open like _that."_

Trudy, the owner of the place, shot her a look that harbored no safety. Maggie closed the razor and put it back into her pocket. In another time she might have been inclined to ignore the whole thing. There was _some_ value in endearing herself to the natives, though.

She shrugged to herself. It was worth a _try._ She pushed herself up off the bar stool, wobbling to a stand. She'd fixed Trudy's radio in return for some caps that she'd promptly spent on whiskey, but she needed more caps. The woman might pay her if she got rid of this guy. At the very least, she might give her a free drink.

"I think," Maggie started, her voice beginning to slur, "that you ought to _beat it."_ She pointed hazily at the man, seeing his outline wavering in the dim interior of the saloon.

"What the _hell―_ listen, I ain't talking to _you,"_ he started up. His voice was smug, full of itself.

Maggie chuckled to herself. "Hey, you're one a-them gangers, _aincha,"_ she slurred, and held her stomach with laughter. "So big and _bad_ in them _prison_ blues!"

Trudy made her way behind the counter as the jackass turned on Maggie. Maggie wasn't worried. Hell―she'd just _died,_ she was pretty sure of that, this guy had nothing that would scare _her!_ A lazy grin slid across her face; she put her hand behind her and grabbed the bar stool for balance, her fingers gripping the edge of metal with more strength than she could feel.

"Look, you stupid _bitch,_ I ain't talking to you here," he said, and pushed past her. "You all need to pay attention better." He left, slamming the door. Maggie shook her head, and guffawed at the man as he walked away. _What an idiot._

"Best to ignore that one," an older man said from a booth.

Maggie looked over at Trudy. "The hell did he want," she asked, her grin fading slowly.

"It's some nonsense with a trader what come through," Trudy said.

Maggie got the specifics. Sounded like a hell of a lot of fun, actually. A reason for a shootout. Hell, she'd love to shoot _someone,_ that was for sure, but in the absence of that asshole, she might as well have a little _fun!_

And she'd get some money, and hie herself north and find that _fucker_ and _shoot him too_ ―she started taking stock of her options again.

* * *

Maggie found herself trying to figure out how to talk Easy Pete into helping. Shaking down the doctor and the shopkeep, _pssh,_ she'd been taught to do that shit since she was thirteen. And, God, that was such a long time ago now, between New Vegas and her getting married and that fucking _asshole_ shooting her in the head―

She snorted to herself. Well. She had a gun now. Wasn't the best of guns, just a little varmint rifle, but it was a gun and it did shoot legit bullets. She wasn't wanting for anything yet. And she wasn't scared of some small-town criminal what thought he was hot shit.

Maggie was from New Vegas. She was a goddamn _Omerta princess!_ Omerta meant silence. You didn't talk shit about nothing, you just did what you wanted. And you never, _ever,_ betrayed the Family.

Maggie bought herself more whiskey, downed the whole bottle, and set herself down on the old motorcycle outside of the saloon. She stared across the highway, adjusted her ass on the seat of the old bike, and aimed her rifle down at the men. After a moment she lowered the rifle, blinked the blurriness out of her eyes, and raised it again.

Couple of guys, not too many. Not enough of them to try to take down some sleepy little town. She grinned. _Hell._ The goddamn _Bighorners_ could probably take these idiots down, given the right provocation.

She sat up a little straighter, and called out to the leader. "We doin' this, Joe? You really wanna try taking out this town, for one man?"

"I ain't afraid of some shit-shoveling sheep herders!" he yelled back.

"Alright," she chuckled to herself. "Don't you go whining when I gotta step on your _neck_ or something!"

Maggie turned to the townsfolk. "I'll shoot first, then you guys. Stay on your feet." She looked back to the Powder Gangers and nodded. "One more _time,_ Joe! Say it again!" she yelled.

He opened his mouth to issue some more stupid words and she brought up her rifle, shooting him right in the smacker.

* * *

Man, she thought it would be _nicer_ out. The Strip was great and all, got your comforts of home and whores at Gomorrah and the "nicest" guys ever what walked the Strip, those crafty-ass Chairmen, and even all the great food you'd ever want at the Ultra-Luxe―not that she'd _ever_ eat there, ugh, she _knew_ better.

But the wastes were so crude compared to all that shit. Like roughing it in the wastes made you tougher, somehow. _Meaner._ More _badass._

Maggie supposed that it was same for people who lived out in the world, hearing about all the crazy awesome shit that went on in New Vegas. No one really believed it 'til they got there, and then they lost all their caps and ended up on the ass end of Freeside in that refugee park. Maggie shook her head at that. She never wanted to be back in _that_ place.

Ought to know better, these idiots come to the Strip wanting quick fortune. She was bred and raised right outta the wastes herself, but she'd lived in Vegas since it all began. She _knew_ better. Still got _fleeced,_ though.

Made her blood boil. She wanted to crush that bastard's nuts in her right hand and rip his throat out with her left. They'd had good times, they _had._ But he went and spoiled it all just for some stupid-ass delivery she was picking up, on account of his brown nosing the fucking boss? Not-At-Home better pony up some decent caps for her tracking him down and flat-out _murdering_ him for his tricky steps.

Oh, and he'd better not be _fucking around_ with that thing, that chip that House wanted so badly. House paid good money to bring that thing to the Mojave Express and she'd been down to pick it up, and then Benny had to go and _kill_ her just to get it off of her?

She groaned to herself. What the hell could that asshole _want_ with the chip, want so badly he'd shoot his own damn _wife_ for it? It had better be something insanely _valuable_ ―she grumbled to herself, the volume of her voice rising higher and higher as she made her way along the highway. She was going to― _ohhh!_ She was going to _destroy_ that backstabbing bastard like the _dog_ he was!

Maggie stopped in mid-stride. _Hell!_ She should plan this out. So much pain, so little _time_ to inflict it in.

She sneaked around the towns, ignoring the people in them. Nipton was on fire, sure enough, and she wasn't going down _there._ Fire under her own ass propelled her around to the highway, up into the mountains. Killed Vipers and damn near lost a toe from "finding" a landmine.

Maggie scoffed and tromped up the highway. Legionaries out and about, ignoring her. She ignored them, too. Never bothered with 'em, before. That was politics, the only thing she'd ever done for politics was marry into the damn Chairmen. Shoulda never had to do _that―_

She shoulda found some dumbass soldier on the Strip like _Carla_ did, and hightail it south. She looked around. Shit, she was near wherever it was the idiot had gone off to, what was the name of that damn place? _No-_ something.

 _No-Brains,_ like Carla had, maybe. Pissed the Family right the fuck off when she bugged out of Vegas. Everyone knew why she'd run off. No one could go after her, not unless they wanted to find out just what Big Sal could do with a little ingenuity and some elbow grease. Big Sal didn't want Carla touched. Even if what she'd done hurt the Family.

Nero didn't want her touched, either. As boss of the Omertas, he was in a position to say Carla was safe. Maggie knew the reason _why;_ Nero always got what he wanted. If it took him five years or fifteen, he always got what he wanted and he worked stealthy. He had very good reason to dislike Carla for running off, to want to make a plan to retrieve her. He would know when and where and how. And he would _do_ so, once the time was right.

Maggie hadn't wanted to marry that _cocksucker._ Carla was supposed to get herself married to Benny, _not_ Maggie. Carla would have had Benny's nuts for _breakfast_ long before she'd ever get herself shot in the fucking head for his plans. Maggie... she was the younger one, she wasn't even on the _table_ until Carla left.

Maggie stopped walking and parked herself on a rock. Her head pounded with anger and the beginning of fear. If she went back _now..._ if she made it to the Strip, if she killed Benny in cold blood in the Tops, she was gonna get herself killed again. It meant starting war between the families on the Strip, killing the boss of the Chairmen like she wanted to. Even for _revenge._

Fuck, this was all _Carla's_ fault!

Omertas wanted her back. Them and their damn idolizing asses, wrapped around her stupid finger. Right up until and even after the bitch had ducked out and left Mag holding the door. Everyone in Gomorrah loved Carla. Except for...

Maggie coughed and spat a wad of snot onto the highway. Nero and _herself,_ she guessed, were the only people who'd ever known better than to listen to Carla's stupid manipulation. She'd been unlucky, having Carla for a sister.

Omerta women didn't live happy lives. Maggie _knew._ She'd had her fair share of trouble. She and Carla were only a few women out of many in Gomorrah, and probably the only two who were spared a life of prostitution. She was _lucky_ she hadn't been tossed into a cage and starved half to death, as a child living among the Slither Kin. _Tribals,_ she snorted. Growing up in the "best" of both world had left Maggie heartless. There was nothing that fazed _her._

Once New Vegas started up, Maggie had been lucky to be Big Sal's daughter. It was a status symbol, to have legitimate children in a sea of whores. Meant she and Carla were marked for nicer things. Marked for _politics._ Fuck all, Nero was a crafty bastard. He'd been planning this diplomatic shit for ten years, now, and he'd probably banked on Carla killing Benny _anyway._ Maggie knew Nero wanted Benny dead; with Swank in charge, the Chairmen were weakened and could be crushed. Swank was such a _moron._

One less Family on the Strip, one less trouble to have. Maggie knew she would do the same thing, if she was in Nero's shoes. Fucking Chairmen thought they were classy with their New Vegas shine, now that they weren't forced to scratch out an existence in the wastes.

And until New Vegas had come along... Maggie remembered the old days. She wasn't _gonna_ forget. It had been a _bad_ life.

Maggie cracked her neck and checked her gun. Maybe she would look up Carla. Go and see her and the husband, find out how she was doing. Maybe she'd give her a good rough-up for ditching her in New Vegas, stuck with that wily fucker, and be on her way. It was the least she could do for her sister, the sister she'd left _trapped_ on the Strip without so much as a _how-you-do._ Carla wouldn't cave easily, but she would if Maggie beat her ass sufficiently.

It sounded like a plan. She might be able to get some more money off the bitch, too. Man, she needed a damn _drink._


	2. Roshambo

_Novac._ Yeah, she'd thought something like that. Dumb as hell. People were _dumb._ Maggie was pretty dumb too, but she would have named the place something else. She stared at the big motel sign and wondered how the hell people even managed to survive in this world, how the hell she'd lived through the shit she had. Her and the whores she lived with.

Wastelanders were tougher than the soft-bodied whores of the Strip, though. Maggie gave credit to the town, it didn't even have any fences around the houses. Nothing at all to keep them from getting overrun by whatever decided it wanted to eat people for breakfast. Nothing but the glint of metal, a rifle barrel, in the mouth of that weird "Dinky the Dino" thing that she―honestly?―could give two _shits_ about.

Maggie took the exit up off the highway into the town, her legs burning from so much damn walking. Hadn't had a break from the shit for a long while, and it was getting dark now. Needed to see about getting a room.

"Hey, anyone _home!"_ she yelled, into the lobby. She coughed and hacked again. Dry desert air, she needed to be back inside Gomorrah. Back where she would be able to drink herself stupid and forget about that _bastard_ for more than five minutes.

"I was about to leave for the night," some pasty old woman said, from behind the desk. Maggie hadn't even seen her.

"Yeah, okay, can I get a room? Or some directions, or _something?"_ Maggie rubbed her face and yawned.

"Sure can."

She paid the woman and slumped into the room, then drank the whiskey that she had left―pitiful, only half a bottle―and slept.

Maggie dreamed of revenge.

* * *

In the morning she had three priorities. _Firstly,_ she needed to find some booze. Trader across the street wasn't as helpful but he did have a bottle of scotch that she traded a bunch of junk for. After she'd drunk half the bottle she felt normal again.

 _Secondly,_ she counted out her caps and planned her trip. She was always calculating, but with less than a handful of caps, half a bottle of scotch and armed with a straight edge, she wasn't gonna last long in the wastes. Wastelanders were always offering up money to do odd jobs, so she poked around.

And _thirdly,_ she needed to find Carla.

Carla was gone. It was irritating. Maggie got her fingers around the collar of a local and told him she was an old friend of Carla's, needed to know where she was. But she was gone, not in town anymore. Best he could do was offer up the name of her husband and suggest that he might know more about it. He did offer some caps for dealing with a problem out in the RepCONN facility, too, so she was not at a total loss.

But where the fuck could Carla have gone? She wasn't at all good at fighting―Maggie had always won their fights. She'd beaten the piss out of Carla too often not to understand that the woman was useless at fistfights.

Maybe Nero finally came back and got her. Maggie would have heard about _that,_ though. Nero would be parading that information about the Strip, proud of his accomplishment. Someone would have told Maggie; Maggie had planned with Nero, she knew all about what he had in store for Benny―the minute he acted on Carla, she would have followed the plan. Would have worked her magic on that stupid bastard and placed herself in power over the Chairmen. Like Carla was supposed to do, but was too stupid or too― _ugh,_ she didn't even know.

Maybe Carla had actually fallen in love or something. Maggie found it kind of hard to believe that Carla, who'd been like a slap to the face with a cold piece of attractive steel, would had fallen in love with some dopey soldier walking 'round the Strip.

Maggie sighed and drank some more scotch and shook her head. She slapped her cheeks red and opened her shirt and primped her hair up a little, just to look halfway decent in the brahmin-skin outfit she was wearing. Then she knocked on the door of the motel room and kept one hand loose at her side, near her razor.

No answer. Maggie knocked and knocked, and then finally her temper got the best of her―always did, she'd been spitfire since her youth, probably how she'd managed to survive the fucking Slither Kin. She growled in frustration and threw the door open.

Rifle in her face. Some angry _ugly_ fucker holding it with the barrel damn near jabbed into her cheek. Maggie scowled. The scotch gave her confidence but not smarts. Hadn't planned to get shot, yet. Hadn't thought these assholes in this sleepy town would pull a gun on her for just opening a door.

But hell, if she'd ever been smart _at all_ she wouldn't have been shot by Benny.

"I don't plan to get shot in the face again," she said, angrily, "and you didn't answer your goddamn door, so _knock it off!"_

The rifle didn't move. Maggie narrowed and focused her eyes on the person on the other side of it. Snazzy beret. Ex-soldier. Yeah, that was him. The Boone guy.

"Where the _hell_ is Carla?" she snapped.

The change in his expression was so weird she was confused. The rifle lowered a bit, the hands on it shook, the body language became guarded. Face went blank, his eyes shielded behind a pair of sunglasses. It was like a wall had gone up between them, blocking her from everything she wanted to know. And he didn't say anything at all.

"You're her husband, _right?"_ Maggie coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, keeping her other hand at her side. "Where is she?"

 _"Who the hell are you?"_

"Name's Maggie," she said, scowling. "Guess that bitch didn't talk about Vegas, once she got the hell off the Strip, huh? _Figures."_

The rifle dropped and Maggie relaxed a little, rolled her shoulder and stretched. Beyond the pain in her head, she was sore as hell from all that walking and she was still―still furious about her fucking husband―but she would play this game out a little smarter and not show all her cards. She tried a bluff.

Maggie breathed out through her nose. "Listen, Carla asked me to come see her some time, so here I am, and she's not. So where is she?"

"She's dead." He put away his rifle and sat down on the bed, looking about as depressed and upset as a person could be.

"Wh―" Maggie's eyebrows came together, her eyes opened in alarm. _"WHAT?"_

* * *

She'd drunk the rest of the scotch and stolen some of Boone's whiskey from his shelf, and was halfway through it before she managed to find the words to express herself fully. They were mostly swears.

She'd been taken, by the Legion. Someone in town stole Carla away in the night, and while Boone knew _who_ had taken her he didn't know who told the Legion how to get in and out without being seen by the snipers. He'd been at work, couldn't keep his eyes at his back in the dinosaur's mouth.

"This― _no! No! **No!"**_ Maggie shrieked and smashed a bottle and didn't realize that she really _had_ cared, even if she hated the stupid bitch's guts for leaving her with Benny. _Oh, God,_ now she really _was_ gonna have to kill him and, _oh, God,_ she was―she was living out a jail term until she enacted her own execution by murdering that jackass―

She growled and thrashed about the room until she finally managed to hear the words Boone was saying. Something about needing help. Help finding the person who sold Carla to the Legion. Something about _revenge._ Maggie was all for revenge. _All_ for.

 _"Hell, yes,_ I will help you catch this motherfucker!" she said, clenching her fists and punching the wall.

Gave her a beret and told her to bring them out to the dinosaur. Maggie grinned and stuffed the sweaty thing into her pocket, and finished the whiskey. She wasn't seeing double yet. Not _yet._

Even a shot to the head couldn't dampen her willpower, even a mortal injury couldn't keep her from being―from being the revenge of the Mojave, the wildfire burning through the brush―the _fucking gun_ ―no, she wasn't the gun. She was the _bullet._ She was the thing that was going to scrape through Benny's fucking head like he'd put through her own.

Because she was _Omerta._ And you _didn't fuck over the Family!_

* * *

Maggie never found it easy to talk to people, but then she'd always been a _bitch_ and she'd never mastered the finer points of subtlety. Ended up getting into a scrape with the local doctor because of this, and had nearly gotten herself kicked out of town. Wasn't her fault. The woman was a worse bitch than Maggie was!

Nighttime found her sitting in the lobby of the Dee-Lite Motel, grumbling under her breath and nursing a black eye. She hadn't made heads nor tails of what was going on about Carla, and she was about to chalk it up to some outside force. She'd had to say she was _sorry_ to that stupid doctor―just to help Carla's stupid husband figure out what had happened? Maggie didn't say sorry. She never _was._

And that son of a bitch wouldn't tell her _how_ he knew Carla was dead, which was grating on her nerves. Legion took her for, what, a _slave,_ she guessed. If she could _believe_ him when he said she'd been taken by the Legion.

"I'm heading home now," Jeannie May said, pointedly.

"Whatever," Maggie grumbled, putting her feet up.

"You taking off any time soon?"

Maggie's head swiveled to meet the woman's glare and a nasty snarl came over her mouth. "I'll leave when I damn well _feel_ like it!" she growled.

"How _rude,"_ the woman muttered.

Maggie snapped, stood up and fished the motel room key out of her pocket. She threw it at Jeannie May and balled up her fists. "I hope you get shot in the fucking head!" she yelled. "Then we'll see how _you_ feel, after!"

The older woman put her nose up in the air and walked out of the metal lobby, leaving the key on the floor. After a few minutes, Maggie retrieved the key and put it back into her pocket. Damn, she needed a fucking _drink._ Maybe the grumpy bitch had something here... Heh, maybe she had some money, Maggie needed money _bad._ Bad enough to steal it from some stupid _bitch,_ for sure.

She stared around the lobby. The woman was smart enough not to leave anything out that would be irreplaceable, but... Maggie leaned over the desk and grinned.

She moved behind the desk and parked herself on the floor, staring down at the safe. If the woman had anything of value it would be in there, wouldn't it? She pulled out her tools and picked the lock.

Nothing much, really. A few odds and ends, couple caps. Maggie put the caps in her pocket, hearing them jingling along with the key, and picked up the lone piece of paper from inside.

Two minutes later she was up on her feet, stomping out of the lobby and dropping the key and caps everywhere as she pulled that First Recon beret from her pocket.

* * *

Maggie didn't bother to knock. She marched down the road and jerked open the door to the grumpy bitch's house and booted her ass out of bed, grabbing her up by the back of her collar. Maggie's straight razor was at the woman's throat as she hissed in her ear that they were gonna take a walk out to the dinosaur.

"I don't _underst―"_

It was a _shame_ the woman wouldn't live long enough to let the two black eyes Maggie'd given her, mature. They were gonna be so dark, it would look _right pretty_ on that pinched-in face. Maggie reached down and picked the woman up off the bed, glancing at the rail of the foot board that she'd just smashed her into. She hadn't drawn blood. _Ah, well._

"Honey, you don't _need_ to understand," Maggie said, as sweetly as she could. Her mouth twisted into a skeleton smile, teeth bared. "We ain't talking here. Let's _go."_

Jeannie May walked fast out to the front of the dinosaur. Stood on the rocks directly in front of it, looking confused. Maggie held off putting on the beret for a moment and got right up in the woman's face, poking her in the chest. "You listen to me," Maggie said. "This is _so_ fucking important, you know?"

"I'm... _listening,"_ Jeannie May said. The look on the grumpy bitch's face was priceless. Maggie committed it to memory as she started chuckling.

"You fucked with the _wrong_ Family," Maggie said, jabbing the woman again. "Selling Carla like that―"

"Hmph," Jeannie May said. "Shoulda _known_ the Omertas wouldn't let me live."

Maggie stopped, in shock.

She... she just _knew_ it. Years of careful planning and this was how he took the bitch down? By―selling her to the fucking Legion, letting someone else do his own dirty work, and not breathing a word of it to Big Sal? And not a single _word_ to Maggie? Maggie, _his_ ―who he'd _been_ ―he'd _promised_ her!

They were going to rule the Strip, _together._ Her in charge of the Chairmen, him running the Omertas. He'd **_promised._** Maggie's jaw clenched so tightly her teeth hurt. And she'd _believed_ him, like the idiot _she_ was.

"...Nero put you up to it," Maggie strained out.

"I don't know nobody named Nero," Jeannie May said, "but I didn't hear any complaints when the woman was taken care of. Why are you here?"

Maggie felt the fabric of the beret in her hand, felt the slickness of the straight razor's handle in the other. She ought to gut the woman. She _wanted_ to. But she'd made her own promise. And she wasn't about to break her own word just because someone played her for a chump.

Maggie put the beret on her head and stepped to the side, and watched Jeannie May's head explode into a shower of gore. She laughed in delight, but it faded.

The game being played in Vegas was no longer dealer's choice. They were gonna roshambo for it, now.

 _And I get to go first!_


	3. F―ing Hurts

Note: This chapter was a _big_ offender on the list. Sigh. Edits include dialogue problems and sentence structure.

* * *

Maggie forgot about the job up at RepCONN as soon as they left. Boone didn't like that Manny guy, anyway, and Maggie wasn't dealing with _that_ horseshit. Wasn't her thing to stir a nest, unless it involved herself. Besides, she was sure there was something else she could get money for. There always was.

They hit the ground running. They both wanted revenge, and Maggie could do with some wholesale murder, so she decided to help him help her along the way. Wasn't like she didn't have _time_ ―she was gonna get back to New Vegas soon or later. And if she waited a while, maybe she could suss out some more truth to what was actually happening behind the scenes.

 _He_ didn't have a thought in his head that wasn't murder. Maggie _loved_ that. Loved that Carla had married a walking revenge machine. She'd need that intensity to get her plans started.

Her plans weren't going so well, what with her forced sobriety and a little bad luck in the caps department. Boone had paid her to help him find that bitch out, but it didn't go that far. She was broke as a joke and without staples. Maggie was miserable, sober, and angry. Oh, and _violent._ Yes, she wanted to be violent. Wanted to make someone _bleed._

 _Fuck Nero, fuck Benny. Hell, fuck Not-At-Home too._ Maggie was going down swinging, and she had a pretty good idea of what dying felt like, already.

"It fucking _hurts,"_ she told Boone. He was looking to die too. She could tell. Kind of a kindred spirit they had, both wanting to take out a shitload of people in a short amount of time, and die doing so. Except, his was _willing;_ he could walk off at any point and go do whatever the hell he wanted. Maggie _had_ to go to Vegas or else Not-At-Home would track her ass down and kill her. Didn't want to die again... at least, not _that_ way.

He didn't react much to her poking, her questions. The man was closed off to the world. Maybe Carla _had_ meant that much to him―Maggie'd been that close to someone. She understood how bad it hurt to lose...

A tiny smile rolled across her face and was gone without even showing. _Nero._ He and she would have had a great future together, if Benny hadn't tried to kill her. Now she was on the fast track to getting herself filled with more lead than _ever_ and she was dragging this Boone asshole along for the ride.

Nero wouldn't _care._ He didn't care to tell her he'd had her sister sold into slavery, stolen away for one thousand caps. If that was how much he thought _Carla_ was worth―how much would _Maggie_ be worth? How many _caps?_ How many _bullets?_ Maybe he was working with Benny in order to fuck over the Chairmen boss in the end and take over the Strip for himself. That _sounded_ like something Nero would do―

Maggie growled to herself. She and Boone were sitting on the rocks above Nelson, looking down at the Legionary camp and the soldiers up on their crosses. Maggie wasn't nervous but she found her hands flipping her straight edge open and shut, open and shut.

Hell, maybe she _was_ nervous. It was gonna take her at least a month's worth of planning to take down the fuckers on the Strip. Benny would be easy― _maybe._ Nero―she didn't even _know,_ anymore. She'd _definitely_ be on his alert list if he knew she had found out about Carla. But Benny, he would be as smooth-talking and stupid as _ever_ and she would fuck him and then fuck him over. Because that was how it had always been between the two of them.

Fighting and screwing and fighting some more and he'd told her he loved that about her, a real hellcat in the sheets, a hellcat in the streets. Nothing about Maggie was _easy,_ except the ease with which she spread her legs―but that was a whole different matter altogether―

Fuck _her,_ why was she thinking like that? She was starting to wonder what the hell was wrong with her. She was so easily distracted by her thoughts, she was getting herself into more trouble.

Trouble like agreeing to go down to Nelson and kick the Legion out for some quick-fix revenge. She stared at the busted town and gripped her straight edge a little tighter. Trouble was what they would have, and she would deliver it like the courier she was pretending to be. _Cash on delivery, motherfuckers. For Carla._

Boone kept his word, he shot those assholes real good and Maggie was cutting down legionaries in the middle of town while he minded her back. Dogs and red-clothed bastards, screams and blood, gore and limbs flying about, ah, that was _the life!_ But it wasn't enough to satisfy her.

When she got out of Nelson she had a nice new machete to play with. As comforting as it was to play with her razor, she needed a new toy. A good thing to have, she reckoned, because the straight edge reminded her too much of Nero. It had been a gift from him, a long time ago, to help keep herself safe.

Girls liked getting gifts, _right?_ Benny had given her a very nice gift when he liberally applied Maria to her face. She was gonna return the favor. Maybe she'd slice his face off his skull and see what life was like through his "eyes".

"Does the name Benny mean anything to you?" she asked, as Boone and she were walking north on the highway.

"No. It doesn't," he replied.

Maggie was a little surprised he even answered, since he'd been so cold and barely talked before. Didn't need to talk. Just needed something to shoot at. "Did you have fun at Nelson?" she asked, while he was still inclined to talk.

"Mercy killing is a last resort. Glad you recognized we had options."

"Well," Maggie said, as she climbed up on top of a rock and looked out over the distance. "Don't see why I should waste my _time_ on some poor suckers what got caught between a rock and a hard place. ...Besides, I don't even know them. I don't kill _strangers_ unless they're trying to kill me." She looked back to him, frowning.

She knew he was a soldier. Hadn't spared the men to try to make him feel any better, or nothing, but maybe he would be more _amenable_ to helping her, now. "Listen, Boone. Are you... _ever_ gonna tell me how you know Carla is dead?"

"It's none of your business," he said, trying to put the matter to rest.

"I got an appointment on the Strip, is _that_ your business?" she snarled back. If he thought she didn't _deserve_ to know the truth―what, because he was Carla's husband and Maggie was just some friend? She hadn't told him she was Carla's sister. If he had half a brain he'd see the resemblance. Even if Carla was all Snow White and she was Rose Red, they still looked like each other.

She didn't know that she should admit to it, either. Maggie snorted and looked down at the distance. A food stall across the highway―her stomach growled. _Might as well stop in._

"Whatever," Boone said.

"Alright, then, let's _go."_ Maggie stomped down from the rock and across the road.

* * *

Fuck Not-At-Home, _especially._ Maggie was starting to realize there was something going on with the Mojave that she'd never seen before. Never while she was cooped up on the Strip, did she notice that there was a lot more politics going on in the world. Too wrapped up in the shit happening at the Tops and too wrapped up in her own fucking business with the Omertas.

Not even noticing the impending war going on, despite all the gossip she'd heard. It was so fucking _stupid,_ that she hadn't bothered to pay attention. Well, she sure as _hell_ was paying for it now―and _then some._ She started to wish she hadn't been dug up.

 _Shoulda stayed dead,_ she grumbled. _I really shoulda._

Fucking Legion attacked them as they got the to road. She fought with her straight edge and got shot a whole lot, which did little other than bloody her shitty clothing and piss her right the fuck off. She was carving up the face of the first man she saw as Boone shoot at and killed the rest.

Shit, she'd missed most of the fun. "The fuck is up with these guys," she muttered, kicking the leg of the nearest one. She coughed and spat up blood, and winced. _Have to keep an eye on wounds,_ she thought. She had a few stimpaks, used them. Boone was a tower of muscle and steel, didn't seem to have taken any bullets. _Lucky bastard._

Maggie had a moment of weakness after they hit the Grub n'Gulp and she found some booze. She was so dry at that point, her head was pounding with the withdrawal. After downing too much scotch, she fell down and couldn't get up. She laid on the cold earth, staring up at the swirling stars, and laughed at herself. There was nothing she could do but keep trying, just _her_ and a bladed weapon and righteous _anger_ ―and the anger of that stupid _son of a bitch_ that Carla had married. She didn't trust him to watch her back for ten seconds, even if he had so far. Which, to be honest, probably wasn't _fair._

Maybe she ought to give him a chance. He didn't seem like he was a bad sort. Carla had picked him, after all. Coulda picked _any_ other man on the Strip, if she wanted, but she picked this one. And she was smarter than Maggie. She'd gotten the hell out of New Vegas as soon as she could find the way, and she'd _never_ trusted anybody.

Maggie had trusted _Nero._ Maybe that was her weakness. She'd made up her lacking intelligence by kicking ass when she wasn't able to understand shit. Just beat the hell out of it until it started moving, stopped moving, or couldn't move without groaning in horrible pain. She grinned a little to herself.

The grin faded, though. She hoped it wasn't the booze that made her want to give the ex-soldier a little more respect. She had a terrible way with words as it was, didn't need the liquid encouragement to make it _worse_ ―didn't need to go opening any footlockers she couldn't close back up. If she opened up to _this_ guy...

Maggie wasn't real good at making friends. She knew that from _experience._ She _was_ real good at being a stupid drunk. And cussing. Man, did she love a good cuss-out. She stared up at Boone, a funny grin on her face.

That son of a bitch just stared back at her, no expression whatsoever. Didn't talk, didn't make a move to help her, nothing. Didn't seem like he wanted to make friends, either.

Maybe she'd made a real bad decision, asking him to come along. But she'd die a _lot_ faster if he wasn't shooting shit for her. Maggie groaned. She didn't really want to die again―

Her head spun and the world turned into a whirling carousel of lights and night-time sounds, and she finally lost it.

She'd rolled over onto her stomach and thrown up a little, her fists working through the dirt beside her, cheek flat against the ground. She was thinking about Benny again and Nero and how she'd like to throttle the both of them for making such convoluted plots and refusing to tell her about them―

Probably because she was a _female,_ or some stupid shit like that―

And the walls that her anger railed against all day long finally broke against the assault. Maggie sobbed into the dirt, not caring anymore who saw. Her life was surely not easy but she didn't deserve _this_ shit! She'd never even killed anybody until Goodsprings. Beat the hell out of a lot of people, before, but never actually took a life!

It was all fake. Maggie hated to admit it to herself but she was all bark and no bite, when the truth was told. How many times had she given into Benny after fighting with him for so long, just because he turned those brown eyes on her with that smooth look? How many times did she find herself under him in bed because she'd let him take the dominant role? She always fought until _Benny_ didn't want to. Always ended on _his_ terms, never on hers. _Even in death,_ she thought, and cackled bitterly.

And Nero, she'd been with him for years upon years, since well before she was old enough, really. They _both_ knew better but who cared? It was fun, what they'd had, and he'd treated her good up until she had to marry that cocksucker Benny―until she was officially out of bounds, and he couldn't risk it, he said. Couldn't risk tipping the pot into the fire and losing the stew.

Maggie had truly loved him, and now he'd gone and destroyed her. He'd taken away actual blood from her, given her away to Benny, and plotted behind her back. Didn't trust her anymore, since she was married. Let her go to her death, let her walk away and didn't even care one _whit_ for her after the fact. That was how the Slither Kin had done it, in the past. Nero really _hadn't_ let go of that.

Her bloodshot eyes swiveled painfully in their sockets to face Boone. Destroyed _him_ too, he just didn't know it yet. Maggie had to tell him, eventually, even if he'd already figured out she was related. Had to tell him what the real truth behind the Legion in Novac had been. How Nero set the whole thing up to get back at Carla for ditching on the Family.

She blinked and her eyesight was so blurred she couldn't make out the man. Just a tanned smudge with a red blob on top. She tried to push herself up off of the ground, but slipped and fell down again, and heaved a sigh.

"Could you help me up," she slurred out. She was warm as _hell_ even if the ground was _cold_ as ice. Didn't want to lie there no more. Needed to get _up._

A patient sigh and a half-minute later and she was up from the ground and wobbling in the air. _"Whoa!"_ she yelped, putting her hands out to steady herself.

Shit, she would have laughed but it was so fucking _pathetic!_ Calmly and quickly, Maggie removed her fingers from his face and away from his nose― _have to wash hands now,_ she burbled to herself―pulled his sunglasses off in the process and actually did laugh when a hand slipped and jammed into her armpit, causing her to jerk in response.

Boone moved her to a picnic table and roughly deposited her onto the bench, and she passed out onto the tabletop.


	4. Too Good to be True

Note: Trying my best, ya'll. Very scared my Boone is not gonna fly well.

* * *

He had to be crazy, to want to do _this._

Been driven insane already, by his own thoughts. Everything in his head for the last few months, every single waking thought.

Guess it didn't matter too much, then.

Boone sat down across the picnic table, and stared at the auburn hair in front of him. She'd laid her head onto the rough wood tabletop and passed out from drinking too much. The simple outfit she wore was splattered with blood and vomit.

From this angle he couldn't see her face, just the hair splayed out over her arms and shoulders. But he didn't need to see her face to know what she looked like.

He knew that face well enough; could see it in his head. He'd seen it every day, in his sleep, through his scope, in his nightmares. Seen the distressed look on her face, knew it was the same. Tore his fucking heart out, to look at Maggie.

To see Carla in her face.

Maggie hadn't said anything about it. But she had to be related to Carla. How she'd reacted to the news, how she'd trashed his motel room, it all fit. How willing she had been to help him. And her looks... she was _identical_ to Carla. Right down to the dimples in her cheeks, the funny way she squinted her eyes when she was staring at something, the thin fingers she curled up into fists. Her voice... he groaned to himself, pressing his lips together.

God, it _hurt._ It had to be some kind of punishment, it hurt so fucking bad. Karma was taunting him, bringing this woman to him.

He'd only come with her because she looked like Carla. Maggie was loud, obnoxious, and annoying as piss, and so damn angry at everything that she made no sense. At least _he_ had a plan. She... she was just _angry._ Not someone he would normally have agreed to travel with.

But she was so much like Carla. He couldn't believe his eyes when she'd first shown up, in Novac. Almost thought she _was_ Carla, at first. Thought he'd finally gone over the deep end and started hallucinating.

Being around her reminded him too much, made his waking moments more of a living hell than they had been before. He'd earned _that_ much, he knew. _Punishment._ He deserved to be in hell. There was no denying that.

Boone stared away from her, focusing on the lights of New Vegas. Maggie was headed there, said she had business. Hadn't told him anything about it. He could see the tremble in her hands when she talked about it. She was scared. Didn't want to go, acted it too. But she went anyway.

He could respect that, even if she was lying to him by not saying what she ought to. Not telling him the whole truth about her and Carla.

She wasn't scared of the Legion. The work she did on that bastard's face back in Nelson was proof enough. Boone's eyes slid back over to her. Maggie was definitely handy with a straight edge. Made him feel a lot better knowing she was as brutal as could be. It worked, for his plan. Worked for her, he guessed. She wasn't dead.

Whatever waited in New Vegas for her wasn't something she should do alone. He couldn't let himself walk away from this. She looked too much like _her._ It was too good to be true, he couldn't walk away.

He breathed out and his eyes bored a hole into the her head. Maggie's hair was red. Carla's hair had been yellow. And she'd kept it much shorter. Maggie's hair was past her shoulders and blew about with the wind, getting into her face and making her swear.

 _Dammit._

"Gonna be the death of me," he muttered to himself.

But that was alright.

It was what he deserved.

* * *

Maggie came to with a jerk and had a hand on her weapon before she blinked twice, looking around her in a daze. "Shit," she muttered. "Shit, shit, _shit."_ He watched her sit up and look down at her outfit and make a face. She pried herself from the table, swearing more.

"Caps," she said, and her fingers closed around the empty bottle she'd thrown down the night before. It was covered in vomit, now. Maggie dropped it and glanced out over the east, staring at the rising sun. Her dark eyes squinted.

Boone looked away. _Again._ Reminded _again._

"What the hell," she mumbled. She made it about five steps before she started to fall, clutching at her stomach. He watched her hit the dirt and roll over and moan. "Oh my God, I'm _dying."_

"You shouldn't drink that much," he said.

She stared up at him. He couldn't meet her eyes. "If I don't drink, I'll have to remember," she muttered, and pushed herself up off of the ground. "I ain't _inclined,"_ she added, in an unforgiving tone.

He appreciated that. Spent a couple weeks trying to forget his own memories, doing the same. Hadn't helped. Just made him sick, like it was making her sick. Was why he'd stopped trying to drink himself to death. Why he'd focused on revenge.

Boone followed her out to the lake, past Camp Golf. Remembered his past there, being on the range with Manny. The thought drove ice into his head. Didn't want to think about _him._ He turned to watch Maggie. Didn't want to think about Carla or whoever Maggie was to her, either. He closed his eyes and breathed out. Couldn't stop the thoughts.

Maggie sloshed herself over to the lake by the camp and groaned, looking down at the water. "This is _bullshit,"_ she whined, blinking rapidly. "...Hey, uh..." She turned her head to look at him. "Can you swim?"

He nodded, staring out over her head.

"Good, because _I_ can't. If I drown or something, I'm fucking haunting your ass," she snapped, and waded into the lake.

 _Just sit in the shallows, Maggie._ Boone grumbled to himself. _Dammit, Craig, don't_ ―he watched her moving around in the water. Maggie was rubbing her forehead and grimacing. Even her unhappy face reminded him. _Dammit._

Maggie splashed around for a moment, before scrubbing at her outfit. Her hair was the color of blood when it was wet, sticking to the back of her shirt and one lone strand wrapped around her face. It went under her nose and she spewed curses trying to get it off of her, before giving up and growling while looking cross-eyed at her nose.

Ache. Boone watched her without much thought. Just ached, in his chest. After a moment she slipped and went under the surface. She came up sputtering and coughing. Hacking and cursing and flailing about, she dragged herself to the shore and glared up at him.

"Thanks for the damn _help!"_ she snarled.

"You handled it," he replied, shrugging. Didn't want another finger up his damn nose. She'd given him a good scratch across his temple, too, pulling off his sunglasses. Why the hell did she keep her fingernails so _long._

Maggie swept her hair back and peeled wet strands from her face, revealing a scar at the hairline. A mass of pink flesh, raised and swollen, across her scalp. She poked at it and winced.

"Fuck him," she said, under her breath. _"Fuck him!"_ Her eyes met his for a brief moment.

There was that look again. Pain. There was a lot of pain in her eyes. He remembered, again. Remembered what he'd done. What had happened to Carla. The pain in her eyes. It was almost too much.

"I got shot in the fucking head," she clarified, after a moment of wincing and prodding her forehead. _"Cocksucker!"_ Her eyes moved back to the distant buildings of New Vegas.

 _Jesus Christ._ Boone stopped breathing. Wasn't till his brain screamed for oxygen that he remembered to start again. Her eyes fell and she looked sad again. Might start crying. God, he hoped not. She'd been shot in the head, too―

Christ, he didn't know if he _could_ do this.

At least Maggie was _alive._

Maggie didn't seem to notice his ache when she turned to look at him again. "You look like _shit,"_ she said, raising an eyebrow. Her expression changed, back to the angry Maggie. "Need to get some sleep. Ain't gonna be much fucking use if you're _nodding off_ in the middle of combat."

"Not sleeping good anymore," he muttered, and looked away.

"Me either," she replied, and dragged herself away from the lake. "Don't mean I intend to bite another bullet, anytime soon. Let's go, I got assholes to _scalp."_ Her hand went back up to her forehead and she swore again.

Boone followed, without a word.

* * *

Maggie stomped her feet down the highway. Boone walked fast behind her, watching the distance. She was taking the long way around, heading north on the highway. Hadn't seen much out other than the occasional coyote. She'd picked a handful of fruit and was eating, adding pale stains to the already ruined Brahmin-skin outfit she wore.

She stopped, suddenly. Began patting her pockets and swearing. _"Shit!"_ she shrieked, at the top of her lungs.

Boone winced. Her voice was like knives in his ears. "What," he asked, staring at her.

"I lost my _goddamn straight edge!"_ she cried, patting her pockets again.

"You have that machete." He raised an eyebrow. She must have dropped the straight edge into the lake. Hoped she didn't want to go back for it. She couldn't swim. He wasn't digging through the lake bed for her.

"It's not―" she stopped and growled loudly. _"Goddammit!_ Ugh!" She kicked the ground and swore some more. "There goes _that_ fucking plan."

Boone watched her. Wondered what plan she'd had. Maggie took out the machete and chopped the air with it. "I guess it'll have to do," she muttered. She stood very still for a long time, staring at the Strip, before moving on.

Maggie's boots crunched over the ground, walking past a couple of chem addicts around a campfire. She was hunched into herself, now, head down. Up or down, she seemed to go all over the place. Everywhere but the middle. Boone watched her lose her balance momentarily as she twisted an ankle, swearing violently. She went down on one knee, rubbing her ankle.

And the bullets that would have hit her in the head, missed her entirely.

No _thoughts._ That was what he liked about combat. Didn't have to think about it. It was simple and he was good at it. Just shoot at the enemy until they die. He'd felt like that for his entire tour, until Bitter Springs.

 _Dammit._

Maggie was screeching something at him and he didn't hear what she was actually saying, just the noise. His bullets tore into the nearest Legionary, knocking the man's helmet askew. Glad they wore red. Made them easier to see. Not that _he_ needed the help.

Pain in his forearm. Maggie was yelling something at him, her fingernails digging into his wrist. Screwed up his aim. He shook her off. "Not right now!"

She slammed a stimpak into his back, depressed the plunger.

Alright. Boone ignored it. He'd felt the bullets. Knew he was wounded. It didn't matter. He was going to die one way or _another._ But couldn't let these assholes get to her―

Carla's face in his scope, again. _Every time._ Each Legionary was her head as he lined up his shots. _Every single time._

He died inside, _every single time._

The last of the Legionaries had sneaked around him and was bashing Maggie. Boone lifted the scope to his eye and picked the shot. Chaos, blurred lines. Couldn't focus. Maggie was cursing up a storm and slicing at the recruit with her machete.

Carla's head was in the scope. He squeezed the trigger, breathing out carefully. Picked the moment, picked the target.

Red hair flashed, that scar on her forehead stuck out like an alarm.

 _No!_

He dropped his hands, the rifle shaking in his grip. Jesus _Christ―_

Maggie hit the recruit with the flat side of the blade and brought it around in a slice to the neck while he was stunned. She watched the spray of blood, then booted the recruit away from her, knocking the mortally wounded man down.

"What the fuck was that?!" she said,turning on Boone. "You coulda shot him!"

He didn't answer. Just stared at her with his breath fast in his chest, knowing he'd almost shot her. God only knew what his face looked like. His hands were still shaking a little.

Maggie raised both eyebrows up in alarm, and looked away fast. "Goddamn, man," she muttered. She crossed her arms and looked down at the machete, and flung blood from the blade with a quick snap of her wrist. After a moment she glanced at him and then away again. Looked annoyed and concerned and intimidated.

"Uh." He looked down at her back as she faced away. Her voice wobbled as she spoke. "Maybe we need to take a _break,_ huh? Let's, uh, let's check out this little place over here." Her hand rose and long fingers pointed at a metal shack stuck into the lee of an overpass, jammed up against the rock wall.

He nodded, just barely. Maggie was already moving away. She pocketed a couple things from the corpses, staring at a denarii in her hand before shrugging. She booted a corpse onto its back and crouched down, tugging at something.

"C'mon," she said, motioning to him. As they moved across the highway, she pulled her hair back and wrapped a thin leather strap around it. She tied it tightly and jerked the door open.

Her body turned to slip into the shack. He saw the bullet wounds, saw her bleeding.

She'd given him her last stimpak.

And he'd almost shot her in the head.

 _This was hell._


	5. How to Pick a Fight

Maggie stepped into the shack and fell forward, yelping and putting her hands out to catch herself. She'd tripped or something, maybe her damn legs weren't working right anymore. _Thanks, Benny! Thanks a whole lot, you cocksucking asshole!_

An arm snaked around her waist, catching her before she landed, leaving her tensed up and ready to catch herself but with no where to go. She didn't even register it at first, couldn't operate all that well while sober. Boone had grabbed her before she could fall.

She snorted to herself as she put her feet back to rights and under her. The son of a bitch couldn't help her kill that damn Legionary and now he was catching her so she didn't _fall?_ What the hell was up with _that!_ His arm around her waist was trembling. _And what the hell is up with that?_ He released her slowly, and she wobbled a bit.

She stared at Carla's husband, when she turned around. Didn't even bother to hide that she was glaring at him. His eyes were everywhere but on her. "What is your _deal?"_ she grumbled, putting her hands on her hips.

"No deal," he muttered.

He was acting normal, now, being distant and cold. Maggie rolled her eyes, then turned to the shack. After a few minutes of fruitless searching she plopped herself onto the mattress in the corner and laid back, staring at the ceiling. Hands behind her head, eyes forward. Trying _not_ to think. Not to be anything other than _angry._

She was too damn sober to make sense of any thoughts related to Benny. It was bad, she knew. Couldn't moderate her drinking enough to make it last. But _that_ goddamn asshole―Maggie's eyes flicked to the corner where Boone was sitting. And _this_ goddamn asshole, too.

Didn't know why she'd bothered giving him that stimpak. Didn't have any more and her chest was bleeding pretty good, bullets in her shoulder. Couple of scrapes along her stomach, thank God _those_ hadn't gone through her. Maggie wouldn't be going anywhere if she got a bullet in the gut.

She groaned a little, feeling the pain. Probably should get the damn things out of her. "Do you know anything about treating wounds," she asked him.

"A little." He shifted his weight, putting a knee into the air and leaning an elbow onto it.

"Think you could help me dig this shit out of my shoulder?"

"...Probably."

Maggie fished in her pack, pulling out a bag of surgical supplies, favoring her left side. She tossed the bag at Boone and grunted, then tugged at her shirt. This stupid outfit was about as good at keeping bullets out of her as running around in her _underwear_ would. What the _hell,_ why hadn't she been wearing something decent? Everything before the gunshot was scrambled in her head. Some things she _still_ couldn't figure out.

She grinned a little. She had run around practically naked, in the past. _Bless_ those NCR women and their compatriot spirit, buying her booze and dancing in the fountains. Hah, and Benny _hated_ it!

Maggie didn't feel at all sorry for having been the worst at shenanigans. Didn't feel sorry that she was the worst wife of _all time_. ...Maybe her nastiness was why she'd been shot in the first place, she didn't know, but fuck, she didn't deserve to be stabbed in the _back_ like that―shoulda been a fair fight. _He_ always won, anyway.

Didn't know why she'd ever thought she'd stand a chance at taking him down. Never had _before._ But not this time. No fucking way was he getting away with it, _this_ time.

She sat on the mattress and pulled the shirt over her head, swearing when it caught on her hair. "C'mon, then," she grumbled at Boone. "Fucking _hurts."_

He moved to her side, slowly. Took off his sunglasses―Maggie really didn't get why Carla had run off with him, she was so damn picky about her men. This guy, shit, didn't have much going for him. All squinty-eyed, heavy-jawed, smash-faced. He _moved_ real good, though. Had the right stance, all intimidating and shit. Moved like a real tough guy. Hah, she thought, maybe it was his body language. Carla knew _exactly_ what she wanted in a man.

Maggie'd just wanted Nero. She screwed up her face and felt lightheaded. _Fuck_ him. Still had to figure out some plan to get him to admit he'd fucked up their plans. To get him to tell her he'd lied and get Sal to kill him for her. Maggie wasn't gonna be able to do that. Not _Nero._ Not by _her_ hand.

Carla would have been happy to see Sal in charge. She'd never cared for Nero being the boss. Maybe she would have come home if Sal was boss.

Maggie's head turned to face Boone. He hadn't moved while she was thinking. Here she was, sitting naked from the waist up, and he didn't seem to want to touch her. ...Shit, there were still _decent_ men in the world!

Maggie laughed a little and felt the echoes of pain through her shoulder. Living with the whores in Gomorrah made her forget about being self-conscious. Too many times she'd seen bare asses. Too many tits and too many dicks and too much everything else. She didn't realize when she'd taken her shirt off she'd be exposing herself. She didn't even _care,_ really.

"Damn, they're just tits, man," she muttered, and grabbed the doctor's bag out of his hands. She dug out a pair of tweezers. "Is there any booze?"

"No," he said, removing the tweezers from her and gripping her shoulder. "You drank it all."

Maggie sighed through her nose loudly and closed her eyes. "Alright, get on with it."

He let go of her the minute she started yelling in pain. Fucking _ridiculous!_ "I'll get them out myself!" she snarled, grabbing at his hand for the tweezers. "If you're gonna pussy out on me―"

Boone grabbed her upper arm, squeezed her tightly, and jammed the tweezers into her shoulder. Maggie shrieked in pain. Two bullets were eventually pulled from her, dropping to the floor with dull plinking noises. Huh, she'd thought there were more. _Fucking Legion._

Blood gushed from her shoulder. "I'm gonna pass out," she mumbled, staring at the river of blood that wrapped itself around her breast and slowly dripped to her lap off of her nipple. Gross, but weirdly fascinating. Maggie swallowed and felt lightheaded.

"You'll be fine," he said, quietly, pulling out a needle and sewing up her shoulder.

"No, I won't," she muttered to herself. "Ow! _Fuck!"_

He squeezed even harder while sewing, balancing himself on his knees. Maggie stared up at him for a moment. Looked intense. It was kind of impressive. Finally, he taped a piece of gauze to the holes and let go of her arm. Boone retreated to the other side of the room without a word.

 _Hell!_ Maggie stared at the ceiling for a moment and laid back down onto the mattress, ignoring her shirt. The blood on her chest started to thicken up. Fucking _hell,_ that shit _hurt!_ She poked at the mess and drew away sticky fingers.

"Carla didn't tell you about Vegas at all?" Maggie asked, putting her knees up and crossing her legs, her foot bouncing. Needed to distract herself from the pain. Still felt lightheaded.

"Yeah. Said it was the high life." Boone was staring at the floor. No emotion, no expression.

"She ever talk to you about the Family?"

He didn't answer. Maybe Carla was smart enough not to mention the Family. Maggie hoped so.

Maggie's thoughts churned in her head, bubbling like a pot on a stove. Carla hadn't been the _best_ of sisters, but hell... she was blood. Ever since they were teenagers and running around the Strip together, spray-painting graffiti on the other casinos, planting cherry bombs in the toliets, getting detained by Securitrons―they'd gotten into a lot of messes. Maggie especially, since her go-to plan was fists up, feet down.

Carla always got them out of messes, always had a funny story to tell, always had a ready-made excuse. Even if she'd been a manipulative bitch, she'd been great for telling stories. Maybe that was why she lied so good. All that damn practice!

Carla always had a man wrapped 'round her finger, too. They'd never paid for _anything._ It had been a great life, staying out of the casino as long as they could. Neither one wanted to go "home". Home was Gomorrah. Gomorrah was _hell._

Maggie'd had Nero, didn't really care about anyone else. His name wasn't Nero then. Wasn't the boss, neither, but when his old man died he'd taken over the Slither Kin, and man was that ever a clusterfuck of asshats jockeying for position. Carla wanted Sal to take over. Told Maggie she'd seen too much of Nero's plans to know they'd be safe under his rule.

That was the start of the rift between them, she thought. But maybe Carla _had_ been right, back then. Maybe it was a bad idea for Nero to be in charge. He'd _killed_ her, gotten Maggie into so much shit with the goddamn Chairmen...

Her forehead throbbed. Soon as she got back to the Strip she was gonna have a long talk with Sal. He might not listen, that dumb old bastard rarely did, but it was gonna happen. First, though...

Maggie yawned and turned her head back to Boone. "You want to kill Legionaries, right?" He nodded. "I think there's Legion in Nipton," she added. "Would be backtracking, but we could kick some ass, what d'you think?"

"Christ," he muttered. "Too far in."

Maggie uncrossed her legs and sat up. "All the more reason to take 'em out."

"Yeah," he agreed. He glanced over at her and looked away fast. Huh, that shy attitude. Maybe _that_ was what Carla wanted him for, someone she could play all too well. It was... shit, Maggie couldn't lie to herself, it was cute as _all hell,_ the look on his face. To find a man who was flustered so easily, out in the goddamn wastes? She grinned and then felt the ache in her head again.

"I ain't got nothing _better_ to do but go kill my bastard _husband."_ She rubbed her arm where he'd grabbed her. Guy was pretty strong, she gave him that. Carla picked a good one. Too bad Nero was smarter than her. Smarter than Maggie, too, fuck, how was she gonna take him down a notch?

"Why?" Boone asked, looking back at her.

"You get three guesses and the hint is that he's a conniving cocksucker," Maggie replied, feeling her head spinning a little. "I'm gonna shove that pretty gun of his so far up his ass, he'll be _tasting_ metal."

Boone's head jerked up. "Goddamn," he muttered, bitterly.

"What," Maggie asked, laying herself down on the mattress again.

He didn't reply. She didn't ask again. She was too warm to even argue, and fell asleep.

* * *

"God, I need a _drink,"_ Maggie said, tromping along the highway. "It's too fucking _hot_ out."

"Be quiet," Boone muttered, pulling his rifle.

"Fuck, if that's the goddamn Legion again, I'm gonna go lodge my size eights _up Caesar's ass,"_ Maggie groaned.

He stared through his scope, scanning the distance. After a moment he lowered the rifle and glanced back at her. Maggie was poking her shoulder again, feeling the pain of the healing wounds. She knew better, but they itched like crazy and she didn't want to scratch them.

"Dry lake bed near here," Boone said, quietly. "Ants."

Without looking up from her shoulder, Maggie unhooked the machete from her side and held it loosely. "What kind of ants."

"Fire ants."

Maggie sighed and looked at him. "Can we _eat_ them?" she asked. "I'm starving to death."

"Yes," he answered. "You should stop poking at that."

"It fucking _itches,"_ she whined. "Not my fault."

"It'll get infected and your arm will fall off," Boone said, moving away from her with his rifle up.

"That's _not_ funny!" she called after him, willing her legs to move. So much walking, she felt like her thighs were turning to mush. It took her a moment to get going.

"It's not supposed to be," he said, deadly serious.

"If you're trying to _scare_ me―" she started, stomping up behind him. Boone spun on her, put one hand directly over her mouth and stared down at her with a weird expression on his face. Maggie's eyes widened in alarm, and she did the first thing that came to mind, slapped his hand away and stomped on his foot.

His leg jerked backward, hand moving back to his rifle. Maggie glared at him, breathing deeply and trying not to lose her temper. "You need to stop talking so much," Boone said, his voice strained.

He had the same expression on his face as before, when she cut the Legionary's throat. Maggie wasn't sure what to make of it. It made her uncomfortable. He was pretty quiet most of the time, she figured that was just because he didn't want to talk. Seemed pretty angry most of the time, too, but not at her, not like _this._ Right now he looked conflicted and Maggie hadn't dealt with that sort of thing before.

"Look, you don't wanna be here, that's fine by me," she hissed. "Whatever―this _shit_ is, it's going to _stop._ You still ain't told me the truth!"

Boone set his mouth. _"You_ haven't, either," he answered, not giving to her attempt at intimidation.

"You want the _fucking_ truth?!" she shrieked, her temper breaking. "Two years ago, my goddamn _bitch_ of a sister ran off with some _idiot_ from the Strip! Left me to marry some _asshat_ for the Family, and then _he_ goes and shoots me _point blank_ in the _forehead_ and _buries my ass in a cemetery!"_ The machete in her hand started to tremble. "And _me,_ thinking she might _help,_ looked her up only to find out _she was dead!"_

He didn't move a muscle."I talked to that _bitch_ who sold her! Me and Carla weren't exactly _friends,_ you know, but she was still _my_ fucking _sister!_ _I deserve to know what happened to her!"_

She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Dammit, right in the middle of the goddamn _wastes,_ too. Losing her shit like a stupid kid, crying like a damn _baby._ Maggie blinked and wiped her face with the back of her hand, sucking snot up into her nose.

"If you want to go, then get out of here," she mumbled, turning away. "Got enough problems without dealing with _your_ shit, too."

What happened next surprised her. Boone stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder, jerked her around to face him. "Carla." She could barely hear him. His face was softer, now.

"Yeah, _whatever,"_ she muttered. "Get the fuck _out_ of here, man."

"No." He slung his rifle over his back, and crushed her to him in a hug. "I'm _sorry."_

It was _weird._ Maggie didn't know what to think. She shoved him off of her and growled. "Fuck _you!"_ she said, punching out at him.

And that was how the fight began.


	6. A Family History

It wasn't a _real_ fight. It was Maggie opening her palm and thumping him a couple of times. She probably shouldn't have done that, but who the hell just randomly _hugged_ someone like that? It was fucking _weird!_

And why the hell should _he_ be sorry? Just because she was Carla's _sister_ didn't mean he had to right to console her or nothing! Thinking she was all tore up because Carla _died_ ―and she was, but mostly her tears were for _herself,_ getting mixed up in this stupid shit!

It was so _dumb._ She had no idea _where_ to even start making sense of it.

Maggie smacked him on the shoulder and head, open handed. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!" she shrieked, fighting the urge to slice him with the machete. She didn't want to hurt―well, maybe a _little,_ Maggie _did_ enjoy hurting people, every now and then―

But not _this_ guy. He took the hits without reacting. Shit, that wasn't any _fun._ Maggie brandished her machete at him. "The hell you think you're doing! _Fuck!"_

Boone blinked at her, then turned around and swore under his breath. He walked about ten feet away from her and put his hand over his face. His shoulders shook.

 _"What the hell is your problem!"_ Maggie yelled, putting her hands on her hips.

He turned to his side. "You... You look like _Carla,"_ he said, his voice strained.

She was surprised. "Wha―" Why the hell would _that_ be a problem? "Oh, what _ever,"_ she growled. "Are you so messed up by her being dea―"

"Just―stop talking," Boone said. His voice was strangled. _Goddammit, Carla musta done a real number on this guy._ Maggie gave him the stink eye, seeing his face lit up with some weird emotion. _Go figure, she ruined another one._ She'd been _real_ good at making men miserable. She shook her head at Boone.

"Why do you keep trying to get me to _stop talking!"_ she snarled, through her teeth.

"Because you sound like h―" He groaned and covered his face again. "Jesus _Christ."_

"I ought to gut you," she replied, furiously. "I am _not_ Carla!"

He had a tired look when he faced her again. Tired and sad, and that weird conflicted look in his eyes again. It made her nervous, again. She reacted in the only way she knew how.

"Why do you keep _looking_ at me like that!" she shrieked, pointing a finger at him. _"Stop it!_ I don't like it!"

"I almost _shot_ you," he muttered, staring at Maggie openly. "Because you look like her."

 _"Wh―"_ Maggie was too flustered to know what to do. Her forehead throbbed and she was too sober to figure this shit out― "What _the hell_ are you _on_ about!?" she yelled.

Boone kept his eyes on her. Didn't move, didn't blink. "You want the truth?" he asked, quietly.

"You're damn _right,_ I do!" Maggie stamped her feet to him, pushing herself up on her tippy-toes to get in his face. His warm breath on her face told her he was breathing quick and heavy. _What the hell man, calm the fuck down._ She rolled her eyes at him.

"Fine." Boone spoke icily, despite his heavy breathing. "I tracked her down. Southeast, near the river. They were selling her. Saw it through my scope." His eyes were emotionless under his sunglasses, locked on hers. "Whole place swarming with Legion. Hundreds of them."

 _"Fuck,"_ Maggie swore, under her breath. She lowered her heels to the ground, backing away from him. She _knew_ this was a bad idea. Guy was too messed up. _Shouldn't have brought him along, shoulda never―_

"I just had my rifle with me. Just me, against all of them, so..." He stared her right in the eyes. "I took the shot."

Okay, so maybe it _was_ a real fight.

* * *

Maggie ran at Boone and sucker punched him in the eye, hearing his grunt and grinning in satisfaction. She raised her arm to slice at him with the machete, but he was quicker than she gave him credit for. He pushed her backwards, wrapping a hand around hers and holding the weapon up over her head.

She kicked out and shrieked loudly. He made pained noises as her boots connected with his legs, but didn't let go. "You _killed_ her?!" Maggie shrieked, throwing her other hand out and grabbing his chin, pushing his head backward.

Boone didn't say a word, just stood there and took the hits. Didn't fight back at all, which confused her. It was like trying to beat up a _wall,_ she was just hurting herself―she didn't want to hurt _herself―_

She was trying to hurt _him,_ and hurt him _bad!_ For―for killing _Carla,_ for ruining _Maggie's_ life by taking Carla away from the Strip―she wouldn't have been _shot_ if he hadn't _married Carla!_

Maggie defaulted to her go-to plan, screaming obscenities and fighting until someone stopped moving or ran off. Hadn't failed her but once, and that was when Benny had her tied up in the Goodsprings cemetery. Doc Mitchell joked about having a family history of getting shot in the head―Maggie had thought it was a good joke, at the time.

It wasn't _funny,_ anymore.

"You fucking _bastard!"_ she screamed, railing against him. _"You! Killed! Her!"_

She pulled urgently on her hand, under his, feeling his fingers tighten on hers. "Stop," he said, firmly.

Maggie brought a knee up and tried to take him out with a kick to the nuts, but he blocked her with his own thigh and moved her backward across the asphalt, wrapping his other hand around her injured shoulder. She shrieked again and thrashed in his grip, stumbling as they moved backward.

A drifter in a trench coat and cowboy hat had a camp near the highway. Had his gun out as Boone pushed her backward onto the dirt. "You need help there, little lady?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

 _"He's_ gonna need it _first!"_ she hollered, trying to push back against Boone, kicking at him as he moved her. Didn't do her any good. She felt her back up against a surface, turned her head to see the billboard, caught a glimpse of a campfire. Goddammit, he'd _cornered_ her―

 _"Stop,"_ Boone said again, his voice pleading now. Her head whipped around, face screwed up in an awful way. He looked intense again, conflicted. _Fuck!_ She glared at him as hard as she could, wiggling her hand under his, trying to escape.

The click of a pistol hammer caught her attention, her eyes turning to see the drifter standing behind them. He had his pistol trained on them, ready to shoot. "Not sure what all is going on here," he said, slowly. "But this certainly ain't proper behavior for _public."_

"This is family business, so _fuck off, asshole!"_ Maggie snarled, moving her eyes back to Boone's.

"Then, if you wouldn't _mind..."_ A few crunching footsteps and the drifter was a lot closer. "Take it somewhere else," he said. His pistol was still aimed at them.

"Fine by me," Boone said. Maggie groaned as he released her shoulder and dragged her away, pulling her by the hand that held the machete. Neither one of them said a word, though Maggie was thinking up a few new swears.

As soon as they were on the highway again and out of sight of the drifter, she dropped to the ground. Pulling him with her, as she became dead weight, she put a knee into his stomach. _"Let me go, you assho―"_ she yelled, before her head collided with the ground and a surprisingly hard shoulder. He'd landed on top of her when she pulled him down.

 _Fuck,_ her head! The world spun. She was in a _hell_ of a lot pain, her head throbbing with each heartbeat. And her heart was beating so fucking fast it felt like it was gonna _explode._ She couldn't focus, couldn't think straight.

Maggie opened her eyes and immediately regretted it, the blur and the pain. A smudge of tan and red in her sight, her arm trapped in between them, a rough hand still holding it. She bit the closest exposed skin and tasted blood, and growled, shaking her head like a dog. Boone jerked back in surprise and swore, pushing her legs into the ground painfully as he fought to get up from the awkward position.

 _"You―"_ He let go of her hand and she tried to wiggle out the machete, smiling triumphantly when she pulled it free. _"Goddammit,_ stop it!"

Boone moved up and away, stepping backward from her. Her vision cleared as she sprang up and waved the machete at him. _Hah,_ she'd bit him on the mouth! She grinned at that.

Her chin was slick with blood, the coppery taste reminding her of that bastard Benny and his gun, and blood in her mouth―her grin fell. When he'd shot her, he'd kissed her. Seemed stupid to remember it, now. He'd kissed her on the mouth and she'd bit him as hard as she could, and Benny put Maria to her forehead and shot her―

She remembered seeing his face as she fell backward into the grave―she fought back the memory, wobbling a little. Maggie pressed her mouth together and narrowed her eyes at Boone. Focused on him. Tried to forget.

"You bit me," he muttered. He flicked blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth. He chuckled, shaking his head. _"Damn."_

Maggie growled again and took a step forward. Her legs were weak from all the walking and the fight―she went down, roughly landing on her hands. She spat out blood and dirt, and muttered curses under her breath. The stupid son of a bitch was behind her, now. _Fucking legs! Get up, get up!_

 _Goddamn,_ she needed a _fucking drink!_

Suddenly his hand was in her periphery, turning her over and held out to her. "Maggie," he said, leaning down to help her up, "I'm not trying to kill you."

 _"What?"_ she hissed, staring at him.

"You said you don't kill strangers unless they're trying to kill you," he said, staring her down.

"I don't―" She didn't remember. _"Fuck,"_ she groaned, closing her eyes.

"You don't need to take revenge against me," he said, and she could hear the anger in his voice. "I've made enough mistakes. I'll get what's coming to me."

"Might be _me,"_ she mumbled, "does it."

She stared at him for a moment longer, then took his hand. Didn't have the stability to fight him properly, right now. If this was some attempt on his part to manipulate her―her hand tightened on the machete. She could still slit his throat while he _slept._ He pulled her up from the ground.

...If he didn't kill her in _her_ sleep, first. She eyed him suspiciously, jerking her hand away from him. "Let me tell you this," she said, curling her lip. "I don't trust you. I won't trust you. You fuck me over―" Maggie tapped her forehead, looking him directly in the eyes. "And I'll make sure there ain't enough of you left to _bury."_

"Fair is fair," he said, tilting his head down to her. His mouth was still bleeding. She could see her teeth marks under his bottom lip.

She shook her head at herself, as she started walking south again. "Last time I bit someone, I died," she mentioned. "I won that hand, today."

Boone made a noise behind her that sounded like a chuckle and she ignored him, digging her fingernails into her palms.

 _Whatever the fuck_ had just happened... she had no idea, but it did _not_ need to happen again. She couldn't keep her head on straight without booze―and he was about as sane as a bible-man in Gomorrah, talking sin and hellfire. The last time _that_ had happened, Maggie had to clean brain matter from Sal's clothes. She pursed her lips and glanced back at Boone.

This wasn't gonna end _well,_ for either one of them. They were, both of them, _fucked._ And that was just _this_ problem. Didn't even _include_ the shit that was going on in Vegas or the desert. There was so much more to think about and she couldn't even start to have thoughts about that. But _this―_

Carla was dead and her ex-soldier husband had shot her, to spare her from the Legion.

 _Goddammit!_ Maggie's eyes filled up with tears again. It―she―she shoulda _stayed_ dead! _Fuck!_

* * *

As soon as they reached the El Dorado gas station, Maggie grabbed Boone by his collar and pushed him against the wall, growling and baring her teeth, standing on her tippy-toes again. "You _listen,_ now," she said, angrily. She'd been thinking about some things and wanted to make sure he was clear on it.

"Gonna hit me again?" he asked, giving her a blank look.

"Gonna give me a _reason?"_ she snapped, drawing her eyebrows together.

He didn't reply, just stared her down. After a moment, his hands came up and gently unhooked hers from his shirt. "We can talk," he said, "like _normal_ people, Maggie."

"I ain't seen normal, out here," she growled. But she lowered herself to the ground and backed up. Crossing her arms, she glared at him. "Are we going to Nipton or not?"

"You're the boss," he replied.

"No I ain't," she muttered. "If I do this with _you―"_ She sighed and threw her hands up. "If we go to Nipton, you want to kill Legionaries, that's _fine._ I don't really want to go back to the goddamn Strip, anyway. Not _yet."_

"Why not," Boone asked.

"Because I ain't that _fucking_ smart!" she snarled. "And them― _cocksuckers_ on the Strip think I'm dead! I need _time_ to make plans!" Maggie jabbed a finger into his face. _"Carla_ was the smart one, and she's _dead!"_

Boone breathed out and looked away from her. "You look just like her," he said, quietly.

"I―" She screwed up her face. _"I am not Carla!"_

"But you _look_ like Carla," Boone repeated. "Maggie is _dead,_ right?"

Oh, god _damn,_ she saw where he was going with _that._ _"Hell, no!"_ she shrieked. "No! I'm _not_ gonna―" She groaned and turned away. "That is a _really_ shitty idea, Boone," she managed, her throat constricting.

It _was_ of a caliber of deception that could outsmart Nero, though. Maggie rubbed her forehead, wincing. A little dress-up would make her look exactly like Carla, and Nero would flip his fucking _lid_ to find out Carla wasn't dead. And she could sneak in and kill Benny without even worrying. ...Didn't feel _right,_ though. The idea disgusted her. She was nowhere _near_ smart enough to play at that sort of shit.

Maggie looked down at her ruined clothing, splattered with blood and stained. She sucked snot up into her head, heading off the crying, and sighed. "I'll think about it," she muttered, and sat down on one of the cardboard mats, staring out over the distance.


	7. Gone Ahead Without Her

Note: The last few days were overwhelming, sorry about the delay. Hopefully this chapter makes sense. If not I'm going to scream

Edited for _moderate_ errors

* * *

They sat in the El Dorado gas station until Maggie was out of her mind with sobriety. Eventually she complained about needing a drink and the heat and just about everything else she could think of, whining under her breath and being _miserable._ She could hear Boone moving around behind her, but ignored it.

"Here," he said, thrusting something into her field of vision.

Maggie jerked in surprise and put her hands up to fend off an imagined attack, falling backward onto the mat. The bright sun caught her eye and she squinted, trying to get her bearing.

"Here," he repeated, pushing his hand toward her face. She looked at what he was holding and saw it was a bottle of vodka.

Maggie sat up, wrenched it from his grip, and glared at him. "Alright... I guess I forgive you. _For now,"_ she muttered, popping open the bottle and taking a long drink. She coughed and spat, then put her legs up and leaned her elbows onto her knees.

Boone moved to the building and leaned against the wall. She sat for a time, looking up at the sky, watching the clouds skidding across the blue. Waited for the booze to kick in so she could think straight.

She remembered when she was a kid and the Kin fought like hell with the other tribes. Remembered the first time she'd ever met Benny, how crazy things had been, back in the day when Vegas first started up. She growled. That _asshole_ didn't deserve any more of her mind than Boone's stupid idea did. She shook her head to free the thought.

Remembered her mom. An unwilling participant in Slither Kin business. A missionary who fell in with Sal after her people were killed, Maggie suspected, because she didn't want to die. She'd been so... _good._ Just, like, the _nicest_ person in the _world,_ which was all the more impressive when Maggie realized she'd been raped repeatedly by her father. A real fucking saint.

"Did you know, we were named after saints?" Maggie said, loudly, without turning around. Boone didn't answer. "I know, right? Carla got it _lucky._ She wasn't named Magdalene."

Maggie took another drink. She hadn't really thought about her mother for years. ...Didn't really miss her, which seemed a shame, but it'd been so long she didn't even remember what the woman looked like. Sal hadn't been very upset about his hostage missionary "wife" dying after the Rough Riders tore through their territory, when Maggie was six and Carla seven. She had been just another woman in the wastes, and he was just another _asshole._

"...When our mom died," Maggie said, feeling the emotion rising in her throat, "she told me she was going ahead to Galilee, whatever the hell that means." Her shoulder twitched and she grimaced. "I guess Carla's gone there, now."

Footsteps behind her brought her attention around, her hand tightening around the mouth of the bottle. Boone moved up beside her and sat down on the ground, looking over at her. "Must be a nice place to go, then," he said, quietly.

"Yeah," Maggie answered. "Must be." She sniffled and wiped her face, feeling the blood crusted over her chin. "Mom would never have survived the Slither Kin, anyway. Don't know _why_ she even came out here. Before Vegas, this place was run over with psychopaths." She laughed bitterly. "Still _is,_ hah."

Maggie stared up at the tall tower of the power plant nearby. Tears fell down her cheeks without her noticing. _Including me,_ Maggie told herself. She was nowhere _near_ as good as her mom, and _much_ too psychotic to be a saint. Her mom wouldn't like that she was planning elaborate revenge―thinking she'd like to take Benny's face off―Maggie's face fell and she stared down at the bottle in her hands.

Her mother wouldn't approve of the drinking, either. She'd been so―Maggie's eyes teared up. She'd preached against vice and sin and lived in a den of both. Maggie would never be as tough as her mother. Never be as tough as Carla, _either―_

She picked up the bottle and threw it out into the desert, as hard as she could. Liquid sloshed out and poured over the yucca it landed in. _I don't need it,_ she told herself. _I don't fucking need it._

"And to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness," she mumbled. How could she not remember her mother? How could she say such horrible _shit_ against her own _sister,_ who had loved her even if she ran away from the Strip? She remembered the last thing Carla had ever said to her―Maggie covered her face and shuddered.

And all she'd done was try to hurt her, in the past, and attacked her husband. Maggie's throat started to close up with emotion.

"And in your godliness, brotherly kindness, and in your brotherly kindness, love," she finished. Her mother's favorite passage. She told them every night, before bed, that they must make themselves firm and never sway, that their way in life was dependent on their faith. All three women, at one point, had suffered. Only Maggie had survived.

Maybe Maggie hadn't gone to Galilee because she still had something to do. Maybe her mother was waiting for her to prove herself before she could join them. It was a thought―she had no one _left,_ to trust in. No one left to give her strength.

This jerk in the beret was all torn up about Carla, too. Maggie glanced at him and saw him staring at nothing. Wondered what was going through his mind. Why he didn't just take off, like she'd told him to. Maybe he didn't have anything _better_ to do.

The was a moment of silence, while she blinked back tears and tried to keep herself together. "Well," Boone said, leaning an arm onto his knee, "at least she didn't name you _Craig."_

She screwed up her face at him. "What?"

"Carla used to pick on me about my name," he said, without looking at her. "Never bothered me until she was gone."

That was the final straw, for Maggie. "I didn't think I'd _miss_ her," she said, abruptly. She wiped her eyes again. "Last two years I've been cursing her name and thinking so much shit on her―" She swallowed a sob. "Thinking that it was all _her_ fault I got into all this shit―" her voice rose with emotion.

"I miss her, too," Boone said, thickly. He looked over at Maggie, watched her trying not to lose it. His arm went out to the side. "Promise not to hit me?"

Maggie sobbed and turned, throwing herself over his shoulder. "Shut up," she complained, through the tears. "Just―shut the _fuck_ up, man."

A heavy arm came around her side and held her, as she sobbed her eyes out on the man who'd killed Carla. She bawled like a goddamn _baby._ It wasn't even something she thought about, she just did it.

Felt a hell of a lot better, after. Boone was rubbing her shoulder and staring out into the distance still, when she finally stopped herself. Her nose was jammed directly into his shoulder and she knew it was uncomfortable for him. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat and some suffocating man smell. It kept her mind off the weirdness of the situation, how _strange_ everything had been lately. But that was just all the more strange, when she thought about it.

...He gave a good hug, though. She felt ashamed of herself for being so damn _mean_ to him. "I'm sorry I bit you," she mumbled. "I lose my temper, sometimes."

He chuckled, dryly. "It's good," he said. "No one will take you down, fighting like that."

 _"He_ did," Maggie muttered, and looked at him through her puffy eyes. "You... you said you're gonna get what's coming to you. What did you mean?"

Boone removed his arm and she pulled away at the hint. "You take out a debt, it's only a matter of time before someone comes collecting," he said, cryptically.

She drew her legs up to her chest, and wiped her face repeatedly, sucking snot up into her nose. "What does that mean."

"Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make," he answered, and rubbed his mouth. "Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while."

 _"What_ mistake," she asked, pushing the issue. "Shooting Carla?"

He got real quiet. Maggie figured he didn't want to talk about it. She wouldn't want to admit to it, either. But he did start talking, eventually.

"I was meant to pull that trigger. It was a mistake to think I could escape it." He had a terrible expression on his face. "Things just finally caught up with me."

"What," Maggie said, turning her head and laying it across her knees. "Like fate, or something?"

"If I'd never met Carla, it would've been something else. I should've never gotten close to her." Boone ran a hand over his face. "You'd better keep your distance, too."

"Is that why you're trying to get killed fighting the Legion?" She stared at him.

"All this was only ever going to play out one way. It still is." He turned to face her, his eyes tired and sad again. "I don't have any say. All I can do is wait for it to be done with me."

Maggie sat up and stared away from him. "Feels the same for _me,"_ she said, blinking away tears. "And I'm not smart enough to figure out what's going on."

"You will, though," he said, and stood up. He stared at the HELIOS tower. "You'll figure it out."

They remained in the gas station for a while longer, until the sun began to set. On to Nipton, then. To kill some of the bastards that took Carla.

* * *

Maggie could feel the straining of her muscles as she swung the machete, lodging it into the head of a Legionary. The one with the coyote helmet was on the ground, his arm sliced off and body full of bullets. Everything around her was on fire. Even Gomorrah was never as chaotic and fiery as this place was, right now.

If hell were a real place, Nipton was where it would be. Agonized screams and bullets ringing through the air, body parts flying and guts spilled everywhere. Her foot came out and pushed against the Legionary, knocking him back as she ripped the machete from his forehead. Gunshots behind her cracked out, and she spun to see who was left.

Their morning had started off _hungry_ and gotten so much worse, since. Winding through the roads and minding the critters out in the mountains, Maggie had fallen again and lost a shoe. It was wedged somewhere in the rocks around a coyote den, north of Nipton. She'd cursed up a storm when she ended up stepping on eighteen million shed cactus spines, barefoot.

And there had been no break since. The Legion mongrels had been a surprise. They'd come at her and Boone before they even saw the Legionaries, going for the throat. But the dogs weren't nearly as much trouble as the men. Boone's swearing and her shrieks had drawn the main force down on them, shots striking in the nearly-silent day.

But for the crackling of fire―Maggie made a face and cradled her side where she'd been tossed into a burning pile of tires. She could still smell her burning hair and feel the prickling fire chewing away at her skin. Now her outfit was fucking _ruined._ And she didn't know where the hell she was gonna find something _new_ to wear! She growled loudly and flicked blood from her machete, searching for another target.

Boone had killed them all. Good for him! _Fucking assholes._

"Can't feel all my limbs," Boone said, when she found him. He was lying on his side in a puddle of blood and gore, a dead Legionary lying on top of his legs. The body didn't have a head. Maggie shoved it off of Boone's legs with her foot and knelt down beside him, looking over the wounds.

"Ah, you're fine," she scoffed, grabbing up a bottle of water and pouring it onto his face. He jerked at the sudden onslaught of water and sputtered a little.

"Trying to _drown_ me," he muttered, and made a pained face.

She rubbed at the skin, cleaning some gore from his cheek, and grinned. "Yeah, this ain't nothing. C'mon, sit up, let's get moving."

"You don't have bullets in your legs," he groaned.

"Quit being a _wuss,"_ Maggie replied, tossing the bottle to the side and rummaging in her pack. "I'm running around with one goddamn _shoe._ Now, I got some pain meds, but no stimpaks. You want?"

Boone reached down and pulled open his leg pocket, slipping out a few stimpaks, and handed them to her. "Oh, is that how it is?" Maggie growled. "You had these the whole fucking time?"

"Maggie," he grunted, trying to move himself up from the ground. "You're picking fights again."

She jammed the stimpak into his leg without much mercy. "And? It's what I do, _Craig."_

He gave her such a look! She laughed and injected him a few more times, then shouldered her pack. Boone stared up at the men on the crosses while she was helping him and shook his head. "Goddamn Legion."

"We'll put 'em out of their misery in a minute. You good to go?"

"Yeah," Boone said, slowly getting up off the ground. "They got too close. Need you to keep them off of me."

"Sorry, I was a little too busy trying to _put myself out!"_ She rubbed her hair and grimaced. "One of them bastards threw me into a _fire!"_

He shook his head at that. "They got what they had coming. Glad we were the ones to deliver it." Boone adjusted his beret and stared down at her. After a moment, he extended a hand to her and held out a stimpak. "Here."

"I'm good," she said, pushing his hand away. "Wouldn't hurt to look around, though, you think? We're out of food. Maybe I can find something to wear besides this―" She growled and stomped her booted foot. The leather of her jacket was crumbling to the touch, burnt by the fire. "Why the fuck was I wearing this _stupid shit?!"_ she yelled. Her head ached. Quitting the booze made her hands shake. _Bad time to be Maggie._

Boone shot her a glance and looked away. "I'll take care of the Powder Gangers," he said, slowly. "You go find clothes."

Maggie tromped off to the main building and jerked the door open angrily, kicking a dead dog along the way. Might as well try to find some damn shoes, at least!


	8. Like a Mess

She'd called him Craig. Never should have told her his first name. Was a dumb joke, anyway.

Couldn't believe he'd done that, let her cry on his shoulder. All it did was make him hurt _more._

More punishment.

Maggie was teasing him now. It _was_ hell. Carla used to tease him all the time, about everything under the sun. He closed his eyes and tried to push those feelings away, but he _couldn't._ Couldn't think anything, other than missing Carla like crazy―

And thinking about Maggie. Didn't know why he'd even suggested that idea to her, it made his chest hurt to think about―he shoved the thoughts to the side, trying to ignore them. Maggie hadn't been very happy with the plan, either. Made her upset, he didn't like that.

He was asking for the pain, now. Seeking it out. At least _that_ was normal.

Maggie was a lot less confident than he'd originally thought. Her anger petered out the minute she started thinking about her sister. It made her breakdown at the Grub n'Gulp all the more awful, for him. He'd cried, before, but seeing Maggie crying for Carla―seeing Carla's face in hers while she cried―

 _Christ,_ he wished she wouldn't have to cry. He didn't know how to get her to stop. Made him sick to his stomach, watching her cry. Thinking about the last time he'd talked to Carla, how emotional she'd been. Maybe because she was having a baby. Maybe because he was a bastard.

After everything that he'd done in his life, he _was_ a bastard. A dirty bastard who deserved to be tortured this way. That seemed right. Gave into it.

Not Maggie. She didn't give in easy. Maggie fought him, fought hard, wasn't afraid to throw a punch, wasn't afraid to fight dirty. To act dirty, like a bastard. She was weak, she was strong. She was nasty but had a decent side, even if it took a lot to pull it out of her. Like Carla, she had strong feelings about her mother. They were both strong. Stronger than he was, maybe.

Carla was like starched lace. Delicate-looking, but tough on the outside. Maggie was a collar around the neck, rubbing the wrong way. Making his throat tight. Making the skin raw.

Skin. Maggie didn't mind being naked in front of a stranger. It unnerved him, thinking about that. Touching her bare skin. He'd been a little rough when he sewed her up. Forgot about his stimpaks until she reminded him here in Nipton.

Jesus, she'd bled and bled until he sewed her up. He could still see the blood. Could still see her chest and the trail down her breast―he shook his head, trying to clear it. Maggie _wasn't_ Carla. Shouldn't be thinking like that, dammit. Wasn't his place to think like that.

She'd attacked him because he shot Carla. Sucker-punched him and went after him with her machete. Tried to kill him, maybe. Tried to kick him in the crotch. She was rough, but it only went so far. She'd bit him on the mouth. ...Her lips were soft.

He cringed at the thought. She wasn't _Carla,_ goddammit. Needed to stop putting his feelings for Carla on her. It was going to get him killed, probably by Maggie. She'd already promised she might.

She'd cried on his shoulder.

Boone stood up a little straighter and stared directly into a burning pile of tires, tried to pull up the anger he'd had before. Tried to clear his mind of thoughts about Maggie. Tried not to go crazy from how similar the women were. It was only getting worse, the more he traveled with her.

Tried to remember he swore vengeance on the Legion, to kill every last motherfucker. For Carla.

Maggie had been thrown into a pile of burning tires.

 _Goddammit._

* * *

He'd approached the Powder Ganger nearest the Nipton Town Hall when he heard the noise. A muffled scream―

Boone slammed the door to the town hall open, looking through his scope into the darkness. The lobby was empty but for a couple of dead bodies; further down the hallway, Maggie was standing with her foot on a mongrel's neck, trying to pull her machete from its head. Another was lunging at her just as she ripped her weapon free, jaws open and mouth slobbering.

It fell out of mid-air as he shot it, advancing down the hallway. Maggie took a deep breath and her head snapped toward him. She lowered the machete after a tense second. "I had it under _control,"_ she said, grumpily. "It's just a couple of dogs."

"You didn't ask me to come along just to sit on my ass," he said, quickly thinking up an excuse. Shouldn't have rushed in. She was angry now. He didn't have to save her ass; got the feeling she didn't care for him helping her after that mess near the shack.

Maggie stared at him and rolled her eyes. "Might as well check the rest of the place with me, then," she said, waving him on. She started walking up the stairs at the end of the hallway.

He followed. Heard the dogs before she did, shot them. The town hall was full of Legion mongrels, dead bodies and ruin. Just like them to leave a trap for the next unlucky bastard. Maggie grumbled as she rifled through desks and filing cabinets, gathering up some weaponry. Nothing either one of them could use. Maybe she would sell it. She could use the caps to get herself some decent armor, something other than the flimsy Brahmin-skin jacket she was wearing.

She found a dead body in the upstairs with reinforced leather, and stared down at it with pursed lips. After a moment she turned to him. "Uh... you want some new clothes?" she asked, awkwardly.

"You need it more than me," he replied.

Maggie's head swiveled slowly from the dead body to him, meeting his eyes. "I don't―" she started, then rubbed her forehead. "I've never worn armor like that," she finally said. "Besides, there's got to be something _better_ around here."

Boone relented, stripped the body of armor, and watched Maggie as she examined the next set of rooms. She was getting testy. Wasn't sure why, seemed like she expected something but wasn't finding it.

Third floor, mayor's office, she picked the lock on the back door and opened it to find a stash of food, ammo, and guns. "Fucking _nice,"_ she murmured, and thumped him in the chest with the back of a hand. "Start grabbing food. I'm gonna look through the crates."

After a while of searching, Maggie sat back on her heels and touched her jacket, grumbling under her breath. "There's nothing here," she groaned.

He glanced over and saw she had a complete set of leather across her lap. "Wear the leather, then," he said, shoving another box of apples into her pack.

She shot him a look. "I _told_ you," she growled. "I never―"

"Stupid excuse," he interrupted.

Maggie's eyes narrowed at him. She curled up her lip and stood, stomping out of the room. Boone watched her go, then picked up the leather armor and followed. Wondered what was up with that.

When he caught up with her she was pulling the outfit off of a dead woman, a caravaneer outfit that had seen better days. "Better off with the armor," he said, pushing the issue. "You should wear it, instead."

Her eyes met his, and she looked angry. "Shut the hell _up,"_ she said. "I'll wear what I _want!"_

"You're going to lose another shoe."

Maggie dropped the woman's leg, and stood up straighter. "I'm trying to find something _decent_ to wear!" she hissed.

He stared at her. Angry Maggie was a sight better than crying Maggie. Didn't remind him, so much. "What's decent?" he asked, quietly.

She kicked the woman's leg away from her and put her hands on her hips, growling in frustration. "I dunno, a _dress_ or something! I don't wear _that_ shit!" She gestured at the armor in his hands.

"A dress."

"Yes, a _dress!_ Something I can _walk around in!"_

Boone stopped for a moment. Lost his voice in his throat, anyway. _Carla_ had been real picky about wearing a dress. Had to have Pre-War stuff, never wanted the "dingy" field hand outfits or any kind of suit. Made her stick out like a sore thumb, everywhere they went. She'd always liked how her hips swayed in the dress, said it made her look good. And it had. He wouldn't argue that.

He could imagine Maggie, in the wastes, wearing a dress. Could imagine getting shot at, and her in a damn dress. Hips swaying like Carla's―it was ridiculous. He laughed, bitterly. She was definitely a city girl, like Carla. It was too much for him. She was killing him slowly.

Maggie lifted her fist up and made like she was going to smack him again, but lowered it. "What's so _fucking_ funny," she snarled.

"Take the armor," he said, shaking his head. "You'll get killed if you don't." He shoved it into her hands and walked away.

Around the corner he stopped and leaned on the wall, hitting his head against the rough boards. The image of Maggie in a dress would not leave his head.

 _Goddammit. Goddammit!_

* * *

She wanted to camp in Nipton. It wasn't too late to get moving, to go somewhere else, but she wanted to sleep in a bed that was more than a mattress or cardboard mat on the ground. Wasn't much he could do but agree to it. Maggie put her heels in and he didn't want to... to have to touch her again, have to grab her and stop her from kicking his ass. Once was enough. She'd probably bite him again, and he didn't know if he could laugh it off, again.

She did put on the armor. Looked good on her, hugging her hips. Her machete dangling from her hip, boots striking the ground, auburn hair pulled up behind her head... she looked a lot less like Carla. He was grateful for that. Maybe he could stop the thoughts, now.

"I was thinking about your stupid idea," she started, sitting at a table in one of the houses. Nipton had all the comforts of home, before it was ruined by the Legion. This house was fully stocked with booze and food and a queen bed. Maggie was sitting at the circular table in the living room, chewing on a piece of maize from the centerpiece, her face intense and eyes critical.

"Forget it," he muttered. "Wouldn't work, anyway."

"I think it might," she said, her voice hard. "But _only_ if I figure out some things, first." The look on her face... She was trying not to cry. _Dammit._

Boone walked out of the house. Couldn't bear to think what he was, about that idea. Maggie looked too much like Carla, already. _Is being crazy infectious._ Maggie seemed pretty crazy. Maybe _he'd_ infected her, though.

God, he hoped not.

He rubbed the bite wound on his lower lip, closed his eyes. She'd stopped drinking. It was good, she was a lot more effective without the booze. Maybe he ought to start again. Might make sense of whatever the hell he was thinking. Didn't want to think it. Didn't even want to think about thinking it.

Maggie glared at him when he returned to the house. She had her machete in her hand, her partly-burned hair out of the strap she'd tied it with. In one quick motion she wrapped her hand around the end and sliced through it with the machete.

The clump fell to the ground, coupled with her swearing and trying to dislodge a few errant strands. "There," said. "Shit was burnt up, anyway." She laid down the machete and kept glaring at him. Her hair was mangled but slightly curled on the ends from the fire, falling around the base of her skull.

Thank God he was wearing his sunglasses. His eyes started to water.

 _ **Goddammit!**_

"How does it look?" she asked, ruffling it into a mess.

Boone swallowed and looked away. "Like a mess," he mumbled. The armor didn't matter now. It was all in the face, anyway. And her haircut―

"Well, no shit," she grumbled. "At least it doesn't smell anymore." Her nose crinkled, at the words. She picked up the strap and looked at it, then pocketed it. "Alright, pick a house, we'll get some sleep and go back to Novac."

"Why?"

Maggie rolled her eyes at him and shoved a piece of yucca fruit into her mouth. She ate messily. Like a savage. "Because I'm gonna have to pick up some clothes to look like Carla, if I'm gonna pull off this disguise," she said, flicking a hand at her hair. "I doubt you got rid of her stuff."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Boone turned around and left the house again, walking to another place across the street and slamming the door behind him.

Like he could sleep through this torture.


	9. Bailout

Maggie strode into Novac with an attitude, just as the sun was rising into the sky. Her attitude hadn't been helped by the wasteland's unrelenting barrage of critters, hot sun, and dehydration. And the worst of it, the absolute _worst_ ―was Boone.

Been acting weird ever since the fight, though she'd expected he'd gotten over whatever problems he had after he let her cry on his shoulder. But no, something was still going on with him. It made her nervous because she didn't know how he was gonna _react_ to shit. He'd almost shot her, he'd given her that weird hug, and―well, he'd reacted just as weird when she'd cut her hair. The trip back to Novac, he'd alternated between cold machine and looking like he wanted to bash his head off a rock.

She needed a grasp on that, a way to figure him out. Still wanted to travel with him. Carla had picked him, and she picked good. The asshole could shoot like nothing else! Maggie grinned. She didn't even _need_ to have a gun around Boone. He _was_ a gun.

And she was the _bullet._ Fuck, _yeah!_

But he'd already shown he could take her down. Maggie didn't like traveling with someone who could probably kill her. He wasn't gonna let her get away with biting him again, if they had another fight like the one by the lake bed. She'd have to step up her game, get _craftier._ Already been sharpening her fingernails, just in case.

It was looking like they were gonna fight again, anyway. More Legion patrols taken down between Novac and Nipton. More Legion nastiness in Searchlight, and some NCR too. Maggie had almost started a fight with the commanding officer down there. Didn't want to _kill_ him, just wanted to slap him for his attitude.

 _This ain't Vegas,_ she told herself. She couldn't just punch someone and walk away, laughing. It didn't work like that, out here.

Boone had wrapped an arm around her stomach and held her back when he saw her feet squaring on the ground. She didn't hit him for that one. Felt bad for fighting him to begin with, and he knew she was inclined to start fights. Quick thinking kept her from doing something really _stupid,_ like get her ass handed to her by some soldiers with better weapons and training. But if he kept grabbing her like that, full body restraining her, she was gonna knock his block off.

He'd acted _real_ fucking strange after he'd let her go, too. And Maggie had no fucking clue how to deal with him. She'd ignored it, until now.

Her attitude was pissy when they came back to Novac. She told Boone to go the fuck home. Go home and sleep, and leave her the hell alone for a few hours. Let her have a moment of damn peace.

"If you start any shit, I'm not bailing you out," he muttered, and made his way across the motel lot.

Maggie watched him leave. _Hell._ She rubbed her face roughly and pinched her cheeks to make them red. _Okay, plans. Plans, plans, plans. Wait._ She glanced up at movement to her right.

Her feet hit the ground hard, striding over to Manny, the local she'd talked to when she first came to this stupid little town. Boone's ex-friend, or _whatever._ He was exiting his motel room and heading up to the dinosaur as she accosted him.

"You," she said, pointing at him as she walked across the rubble. "I need to _talk_ to you."

He turned to her with a puzzled look, calm and friendly enough. "Yea― _wha―"_ His brows drew together, looking at her hair. "What―"

"You were Boone's friend," she said, reigning in her attitude for a moment.

"I was," he said, staring at her. "We're not so friendly right now. ...What the hell happened to your hair?"

"Shut up about my fucking _hair!"_ she snapped. Her hand went to her side, but she stopped herself. Got too used to grabbing at that stupid straight edge.

"Sorry, but you―" He raised a eyebrow and made a face. "You look... Your hair's the wrong color, but..."

"You gotta explain to me why the hell Boone's acting all _weird,"_ Maggie said, gesturing back at the motel rooms. "He's all steely and then he gets kind of―" she growled in frustration. "I dunno, soft or something. Starts _shaking._ Almost shot me the other day. Been acting weird."

Manny stared at her for a moment. "...You look like his wife," he said, carefully. "She's gone. Probably back to Vegas, she kept trying to convince him to go." He glanced back at the motel. "Something like that, might be why he's acting so odd. He hasn't said a word to me since Carla went missing."

Maggie screwed up her mouth and glared at the man. Why the _hell_ would Carla _want_ to go home? It made no sense. She would have gotten her ass handed to her in Vegas, even if she dragged Boone along. You didn't fuck over the Family. Carla _knew_ better.

"Heard it before," she grumbled. She knew he was confusing her for Carla, already. Didn't like that. She needed more information. Something more to help her understand how to deal with him. She put her hand on her hip and leaned back, looking the man up and down. "So why aren't you friends no more."

"Long story," Manny said.

"Fucking _try_ me," Maggie snarled.

"Me and Carla, we didn't see eye-to-eye on some things. We had some pretty big arguments." He looked like he was tired of thinking about it. "See, I grew up in North Vegas. Me and my cousins. We were some bad seeds. Got in with a gang. I loved it."

Maggie remembered North Vegas, back in the day. "Great Khans," she said. Those assholes were worse than the Rough Riders, raiding and fighting and burning. But not worse than the Slither Kin. You couldn't outsmart someone willing to cut off their own _hand_ and slap you with it, just to prove a point. Man, it used to be fucking _insane_ out here, before House showed up.

Benny'd had a couple of Khans with him at the cemetery. She gritted her teeth, staring at the wall opposite her. Just another couple names on the list of people she needed to take down. Another slit throat or smashed face. She turned her attention back to Manny.

"Yeah," he answered. "But something happened, and I couldn't handle it anymore. So, I enlisted. Earned my future. Brought down my best friend to share that future with me." He shook his head in disgust. "And here was this woman who was too good for it, trying to take him away. So yeah. I didn't see eye-to-eye with the bitch."

If there was ever such as thing as a good and evil switch, Maggie knew how hers was flipped. She drew back her fist and laid a blow on Manny's jaw, feeling her knuckles split from the force. "That bitch was my fucking _sister!"_ she yelled, grabbing at her hip for her machete.

Manny backed up and grabbed his chin, one arm up to fend her off. "What the _hell,_ woman!"

Maggie was not proud to admit she started another fight. It would serve her _right,_ this time, if she finally got her ass kicked―Manny's fist drew back and she dodged a punch, backing up with her fists near her chin.

 _"What do you think you're doing?!"_ Manny snapped. One of his jabs caught her on the nose, sending pain spiking through her head and through the gunshot scar. It just pissed her off more.

"Getting _revenge!"_ she yelled, and struck out at him. He grabbed her fist and twisted her arm, turning her around, pulling her hand up in a painful jerk and pinning her elbow to her back. Maggie growled and raised her elbow to jab him in the head, but he pushed her forward and she fell awkwardly. Landed on her shoulder and took some gravel to the face, yelping.

 _Hell!_ Maggie turned onto her stomach and pushed herself up when a pair of heavy feet strode across the motel lot. Aw, _shit._ Thought she was gonna be in a lot of trouble. But it was _worse_ than that.

Boone stomped over, grabbed Manny by the collar, and smashed him in the teeth, hitting him repeatedly. _"Goddamn―"_ Maggie jumped up and snagged Boone by the side of his collar, yanking him to the side. "Fucking _hell,_ let him go, you _idiot!"_

He was gonna get them _shot!_ Manny was making noise, mostly protests, as Boone hit him repeatedly in the face. He was right, hand to hand was not his forte, but for a fistfight like this he only needed strength. Already had the element of surprise.

"Boone!" she growled. He wasn't listening, just determinedly beating in Manny's face. Manny had hands up, trying to get him to stop, but wasn't fighting back. Best friend. Maggie sighed at her own stupidity. Shouldn't have thrown that punch. This was _bad―_

She put herself up on her tippy-toes and got in Boone's ear. "Boone, if you don't _fucking_ _stop―_ you're gonna get us _shot,"_ she hissed. Her hands wound themselves around his arm, digging fingernails into the skin, trying to stop him from hitting the man again.

Man, when the hell did _she_ become the voice of reason? Maggie laughed stupidly as her fingernails dragged across Boone's skin, leaving welts down his forearm. Musta worked. He dropped Manny like a hot rock and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, dragging her off to his motel room.

"God _damn,_ man!" she said, as he slammed the door behind them, releasing her with a little shove into the room. "What the _hell―_ I had it under _control―"_ She stumbled a little and caught the edge of the table with a hand.

Maggie jerked straight up when she heard the lock click and she flinched when Boone quickly turned and grabbed her around the side of her head. All of a sudden he was a lot closer and his mouth was on hers, and her eyes flew wide open.

Oh, so _that_ was why Carla picked _him._

Maggie's hands went to his shoulders, digging into the leather armor, and she jerked her knee up into the protective covering at his groin, feeling her leg shudder with the strong contact. He jerked backward, breaking off the kiss, wobbling a little.

"I'm sorry but it was _that_ or bite you again―" she started, her chin trembling. Goddamn, he really _was_ out of it. She moved around the far side of the table and slowly sat in the chair, keeping her eyes on him.

There was no reaction, at first. Boone turned on one heel, walked across the room to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. Maggie's face sunk into her hands. A rhythmic thumping noise came from the bathroom, going on for a while, and was punctuated with the sound of breaking glass.

She was shaking, now. The asshole had confused her with Carla, and― _shit._ It was getting worse. And the idea of her _pretending_ to _be_ Carla―Maggie wasn't _that_ dumb. Was a _bad_ idea.

She tried to push the thoughts off, calm herself down. On the table in front of the chair was a Pre-War artifact, a telephone. Maggie looked at it without blinking.

When she and Carla were kids, they'd had a secret journal. Had to hide it because Sal wouldn't have liked them keeping secrets like they were. All the boys Carla kissed, all the fights Maggie started. All the booze they drank, it went into the journal. Maggie had burned it after Carla left the Strip, to safeguard herself. Because she couldn't leave it for Sal or anyone else to find.

They'd hidden it where no one would think to look, shoved down into a vase in the suite they'd shared. Maggie looked at the telephone. Why would it be sitting here, like someone had been working on it? On an impulse she picked it up and looked at the base. Scrape marks. Someone had taken the bottom off.

Maggie's hands shook as she pried the bottom off with her screwdriver, and pulled it apart. A star bottle cap fell out, a small rock with threads of shiny pyrite, and a piece of paper with writing on.

The thumping and glass sounds had stopped. Maggie unfolded the paper carefully, glancing up at the door of the bathroom. She hoped he hadn't hurt himself. Wasn't _his_ fault he was all jacked up. It was Nero's. _Fucking bastard._ She sucked up snot into her nose and wiped her eyes before reading the paper.

"...like it here. Tried for him but I can't. I don't want the baby born somewhere like this. Jeannie May, the bitch, keeps stink eyeing me when she collects the rent."

Maggie's fingers twitched over the paper. "Mr. New Vegas had Benny on the radio today. Feel like shit. Mag had to marry him. Can't stop crying."

She put the paper flat onto the table and breathed out slowly, collecting herself before she kept reading. Carla had been thinking about her. Maggie had forgotten that she was pregnant, but she did remember the bill of sale.

She should have _gutted_ that bitch and let Boone shoot her, _after._

"Don't want to stay here. Need to go home. No one wants me here but Craig and he's―he doesn't see it, doesn't get it. Don't want to run off on him. The baby will need him." Maggie sighed and sucked up snot again. "But Mag needs me, too. She" The end of the sentence wasn't finished.

Boone opened the door to the bathroom slowly, and Maggie looked up, tiredly. He avoided eye contact. "Ma―" he started.

"Don't worry about it," Maggie said, quickly. "I'm over it, already."

He moved to the couch and sat with his hands over his face, leaning his elbows onto his knees. Maggie crossed her legs under the table and ran the star bottle cap through her fingers, staring at it.

"Carla wanted to go home," she said, slowly. "Back to Vegas. You didn't want to leave?"

He shuddered out a pained laugh, muffled by his hands. "Manny," he said, weakly.

"Why did you stop talking to him?" she asked, placing the bottle cap down with a click.

Boone didn't answer at first. There were a few tense minutes in the room. Finally he lowered his hands and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, then focused on the ruined tabletop.

"When Carla went missing he was the first person I told. He tried to hide it, but I could tell right away. He was glad."

Maggie nodded to herself. "Yeah, I thought so." She sighed. "You gonna―you still coming with me, to Vegas?"

There was no reply. Maggie uncrossed her legs and pursed her lips. "I gotta think up a new plan. Might take a little while."

"Alright," he said, staring at the ceiling. She stared at him for a moment. Watched his throat, saw his hands shaking.

 _Man, Carla..._ Maggie frowned. _Hope you knew how to deal with him better than me._


	10. Temperance

Note: A somewhat boring chapter but you'll see where I'm going with it in the next one.

* * *

Maggie cleaned under her fingernails and realized she'd drawn blood from Boone's arm. Sitting in his hotel room, running her thumbs along Carla's diary and willing herself not to lose her temper or blubber again, she was looking for just about anything to keep herself busy. Her knuckles were split along the middle finger, and she laughed at it. But the cut was just another reminder of the fistfight in the lot, and unwanted thoughts rose to mind.

Didn't know what to do about Boone, still. Didn't know what to do about the plan. Kind of felt like she ought to leave him here and go to Vegas on her own, but she'd die _real_ quick. That was one hundred percent the truth, Maggie knew. And she couldn't let her pride get the better of her anymore. Needed his help and he needed― _shit,_ she didn't _know._

It was downright ridiculous, but she was probably just as lonely as _he_ was right now. Except that she'd lost Carla two years before, and he'd only had her for that long. The both of them missed her really badly, badly enough in his case to have some... lingering mental defects from the awful nature of her death. Maggie was just a bitch and liked to punch people.

What could she say. She was a simple sort of girl.

Boone had fallen asleep on the couch, his head leaning on the wall. His mouth was open and he was snoring loudly, and she really didn't know what to do. As soon as he'd fallen asleep she'd let out the tears that she couldn't, before. Was afraid he'd get weird again, start thinking he needed to console her, if she cried in front of him again.

Worst part of that was that she couldn't say she _didn't_ need a goddamn hug, right now.

Maggie sighed and put her hand in her chin and stared at him, sitting on the couch in his reinforced leather armor and beret. Even sleeping, he was weird. Sitting up? Hah, it was funny, how he'd just slumped back onto the couch and tilted his head onto the back. Must have been exhausted as all _hell―_

She was pretty out of it, too. Couple of punches to the face did that to you. Her nose had bled a little, but nothing too concerning. Manny pulled his punches for her, she bet. Most guys did, didn't have the guts to _really_ hit a woman. Maggie'd used that to her advantage too often not to know. She needed to get up to her room and sleep a little, so they could bug out later. They were gonna have to get the hell out, quick. Avoid the neighbors and let it blow over.

She sighed again and pushed herself up out of the chair, going to the door. He'd locked it, she remembered that. It wasn't a privacy lock―she'd need the key, or she'd need to pick it. Maggie crouched down and looked at the keyhole, running a finger along it.

She swore and smacked herself in the face. Aw, _fuck!_ She'd left her pack up in the other motel room. _Shit!_ Her tools were in there!

It was hilariously stupid. Her eyes turned to Boone, who was still asleep. He wasn't going anywhere and she did _not_ want to wake him up again. _Asshole._ He had the key in his pocket. Fucking hell, she wasn't going anywhere, not if it meant having to wake him up to ask him to let her out of the room.

Maggie went and sat down at the table again, moving the telephone and laying her head on her arms on the surface. Wasn't anything else to do. She sure as shit wasn't lying down in his bed. In _Carla's_ bed. It was weird enough already without waking up to find him molesting her or some stupid shit like that.

Maggie made a face. She didn't _like_ this, not one bit. Him thinking that she was Carla because he'd―he'd lost his goddamn _mind_ when he had to mercy kill her to save her from the Legion.

Her armor was uncomfortable. She needed to get back up on the Strip, get something proper to wear. Yawning, she glanced over at Boone. If he still wanted to come with her, she'd have to be really careful around him. Try not to set him off, somehow.

It had been a very impressive kiss, though. Carla _did_ pick good.

Maggie groaned to herself and buried her face in her arms. This was not the place or time that she wanted to start thinking about anyone in that way. Especially because―well, _fuck,_ she wasn't a widow, _yet._ She rubbed her face and listened to the radio, trying not to think about it.

She fell asleep to the sound of his snoring, rhythmic and loud, filling up the motel room.

It was _almost_ kind of _nice._

* * *

Morning didn't come. Since the both of them had fallen asleep in the afternoon, it was nighttime when Maggie's head jerked up from the table, one arm dangling over her side, drool dripping from her mouth onto her arm. Musta looked real damn _attractive._ She groaned and peeled herself from the tabletop. Stretched out her arm, working the kinks. She blinked sleepily at the room.

First thing she noticed was Boone was gone. Second thing she noticed was that his whiskey―the couple bottles she hadn't managed to steal from him in their first encounter―were gone, too. Maggie sat up straight in the chair and listened carefully.

Water was running. She removed herself from the chair and scratched her head, yawning a little, as she walked to the bathroom door. It was closed. "Hey, uh, Boone?" she asked, tapping on the door. "Did you unlock the door yet?"

The water stopped running after a few seconds. Maggie blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes and watched the door knob turning. He opened the door, handed her a key, and shut it again.

Damn, he'd been crying. All puffy-faced and hiding it. She turned the key over in her fingers and tapped the door again. "Are you―" she started. What the fuck to say in _this_ situation? Was he okay, did he need help, _shit,_ she didn't _know._

"Just leave," came the muffled response. Maggie grumbled to herself. He wasn't making this _any_ better.

 _...And to temperance patience,_ she reminded herself. It had come to her that day on the highway. That she wasn't dead because she still had something to do. She was trying her best; he was trying her nerves. But―Maggie wanted to give him a chance. For Carla.

Carla deserved a little peace in the knowledge that her husband had someone with him who understood his trouble. Besides, the asshole would just go get himself _killed_ if she didn't at least _try_ to help him. And he'd helped her too much in the last week for her to let that happen.

Maggie stared at the door. "I'm not taking off without you," she said, slowly. "I promised I'd help you nail the bastard what sold Carla, _remember?"_

"That business is done," he said. His voice was deadened.

"No, it's not," she said, firmly. She leaned on the door, pressing an ear to the wood. She could hear him in there, moving around. "Jeannie May was only a go-between. Open the door, man, we gotta talk."

It jerked open and she moved back. Stood there, awkwardly, for a moment. Maggie gestured for him to leave the bathroom.

"Give me a minute," she said, and shut the door behind her. The bathroom was humid, made her feel sticky. He'd been running water for some time, the tub was draining. Maggie washed her hands, then studied the fresh dents in the wall and the even-more-broken mirror. Clearly Boone had a lot of anger, and probably most of it was directed at himself. She left the door open when she left the room.

Maybe he needed to direct that anger onto someone else.

"I need you to kill someone for me," she said, staring him down. He was back on the couch, red-eyed and damp. "I can't trust myself to do it."

"...Benny?" he asked, rubbing his knuckles.

Maggie growled and shook her head. "No, not Benny. I'll take care of that cocksucker."

Boone looked up at her and glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. Maggie scratched at her head again. "Look, I ain't told you the whole truth," she said. "About me and Carla and... the Family."

He looked up at her again, expectantly. Maggie was nervous now, fiddled with her hands. "Not sure how to start it," she said. "...When you first met Carla, it was on the Strip, right?"

Boone nodded. "Said I looked lost," he said, his words distant.

"Was it in front of Gomorrah?" Maggie put her hands on her hips. "Because that's where me and Carla lived."

The expression he had was what she expected. "We weren't _whores,"_ she said, covering her chest defensively. "Sal was a big shot in the Slither Kin and when New Vegas came around, well..." She shrugged. "We moved up in the world."

There was another awkward silence. Maggie breathed out carefully, trying to figure out how best to explain the situation. She wasn't good with words. That was Carla's thing.

"Carla was supposed to marry Benny. It was this huge deal for the Omertas to have ties with the Chairmen, to show willing that the Families could work together for Vegas. Nero set it up, had a plan. And Benny was all for making friends."

"But she didn't," Boone said, staring at his feet.

"No, she got the hell out of Vegas and it looked real fucking _bad_ on Nero that his surety had vamoosed," Maggie said, sourly. "That's when _I_ had to step up to the plate, and marry that rat."

"I'm sorry, Maggie," he breathed.

"I ain't blaming _you,"_ she replied. "You had no fucking clue, man. You're about as innocent as a baby, in this."

He laughed, bitterly. "Right. Innocent."

Maggie stared him down, her temper flaring. "Do you want to talk about what's going on with you, or do you want to go kick someone's ass?" she asked, trying not to lose it on him. "I _know_ you didn't just beat the hell out of Manny because of _Maggie."_

Boone heaved a sigh, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I _thought,"_ she muttered. "Look, Nero found out where Carla went." Maggie lowered her arms to her sides. "No one was supposed to touch her. Sal kept thinking she would come home. Nero―" She growled a little. _"He―"_

Her hands clenched into fists and shook. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed out, trying to keep her composure. Boone's breathing was heavy, filled the room. _He lied,_ she told herself. _He broke his promise, he plotted against me and Carla―and I'm going after him like I'm going after Benny. Using a flimsy excuse of his betraying the Family, which won't work._

It would never work. She just wasn't smart enough to take him down. But it would still happen. Somehow.

"Nero sent someone to talk Jeannie May into selling Carla to the Legion," she said, the words coming as if someone else had said them, like she didn't have to admit it. Tears were falling down her face again. Maggie wiped her face and looked down at the floor. "It was his revenge for her ducking out of Family business."

Boone sighed, painfully, and rubbed his face, staring up at her. "It never ends," he muttered. "Punishment."

"I need _you_ to kill Nero, for me," she said, wiping her face again. "I... I _can't."_

The only answer he gave was the only one she wanted, the slow nod of a forever-tired face.

* * *

"Seriously, why _the fuck_ are these assholes attacking us so _goddamn_ often?!" Maggie flicked blood off her machete, and booted a Legionary body. "I'm starting to get _real angry_ about the whole thing."

She turned to look at Boone―who hadn't been talking lately, not since the kiss―and saw him getting all strange on her again. They hadn't talked about what happened. She was sure he _knew_ he was doing it, and was almost certain he knew _she_ knew. But she had to find a way to get it to _stop._

With a rough motion, she pulled the recruit helmet from the nearest body and jammed it down onto her head, adjusting the goggles. "There, maybe now we can have a normal talk," she muffled out, through the mask. "Listen, I told you the whole truth, back there. I need you to be thinking straight when we hit the Strip."

"I'll be fine," he muttered, and shouldered his rifle. He refused to make eye contact.

Maggie stared at him for a moment, then turned to face the Strip. Everything was lit up, just as it always was. It felt like a welcome, for her. She hadn't been back to the Strip for almost two whole weeks. ...She'd missed it, too.

"Let's go," she said, hooking her machete to her side. "I'm sure Benny's been _awful_ lonely since I've been gone."

Their feet made little noise in the darkness, as they made their way toward the gate of Freeside. Maggie was thinking about Benny; about how best to _hurt_ him, to fuck him _up,_ to make him _pay._

She only had enough temperance for one person, today, and it was going to be Boone who got it. He _deserved_ it.

Benny deserved an ass-kicking that left him so bloody his coat couldn't be called checkered, anymore.

Maggie smiled grimly to herself as they entered Freeside.


	11. Patience

She didn't think much about what she was doing. She was thinking about Benny begging for his life―she'd never begged him, even in the end, but he would beg. He would cry, maybe, but he would definitely be on his knees begging for her not to slice his throat.

And Maggie would smile at him terribly, and run her machete along his neck, and make his words end with one decisive motion. It made her feel a lot better to think that the time was approaching; made her nervous, too.

Maybe she'd do it after she screwed him one last time. He wasn't the best of lovers. She needed something to make her less tense, though. Not that Benny deserved one last fuck, but... Without her booze she was barely able to _think._ Couldn't afford to be drunk, would just get her into a mess. It always did.

 _Hell! What_ was she _thinking?_ She couldn't afford to let him take control like that, either―it would end up like every other fight they'd _ever_ had, with her cowing to his whim. She growled and clenched her fists, digging fingertips into her palm.

Maggie didn't really _care_ about Benny, she never had. It was a marriage built on lies, naturally. Him playing his big game, she with her temper and sneakiness. Huh, she'd never had much fun with him. He talked _constantly_ during sex. Fucking _annoying bastard._

Maggie approached the Strip with heavy feet. She― _shit_ , she'd never been _this_ nervous in her entire life, not even when she married that shit-heel! ...Was drunker than all hell when she did _that,_ though. Couldn't even remember it, thank _God._

She squinted an eye at the Strip gate and then looked at Boone. He was gazing off into the distance, blankly. She elbowed him roughly to get his attention. He snapped his head around angrily, staring at her. She glared right back.

"This is it," she said, looking fierce. "We get through here, it's the end." Boone didn't reply. Maggie snarled to herself. "Fine. Be that way, man."

His silence was actually starting to worry her. Not a peep from him since she put on the helmet, and even then he'd barely spoke. He was angry as all hell, she could see it, but he refused to rise to any of the jabs or insults she'd hurled on him. Boone was damn near invisible, stalking silently alongside her. Maggie didn't like that, thought it was a bad sign.

Didn't need his psychotic _guilt-trip_ to bring down her plans. Whatever _he_ was thinking about― _dammit._

She needed to stop worrying about him and focus on her own problems. There was more than some stupid revenge here. There was the business with House, politics with the Omertas, and she had to get that chip back, which was so far down on the list she hardly cared anymore.

Maggie was gonna _own_ Vegas... if she _could._ She'd already made a down payment in blood. And she might be bad at political _shit,_ but she sure as hell was good at _kicking ass!_ She grinned to herself. Yeah, she was _gonna_ kick some ass!

Through the gate, she stumbled and fell right onto a Securitron. Dammit! She hadn't fallen _since_ ―since she tried to kill Boone. Her cheeks flushed with annoyance and embarrassment.

"Hey, you made it!" the Securitron said.

Maggie pried herself off of the robot and stared at him. Goddamn cowboy face. "Victor? The hell are you doing here?" She hadn't seen him since Goodsprings―no, she vaguely recalled him in Novac, waiting patiently outside of the motel gates. She shook her head and tried to clear her mind.

"Mr. House wants to talk to you, pardner!" he said, ignoring her question. "He's waiting up in the Lucky 38!"

"What―" Victor rolled away from her.

Holy _shit,_ a real audience with _House?_ Inside that tower, that _no one_ had _ever_ gone into except for the robots? Maggie felt uneasy. She stared up at the Lucky 38 and felt her heart give a sickly thump. No one had ever been in there, _no one._ And she was gonna be let in? It didn't feel _right._

Maybe it was a trap. She was supposed to deliver the chip to Benny, in Freeside, but―but she'd never made it past Goodsprings. On account of that cocksucker killing her―

He would have gotten the chip in the end. And he _still_ killed her.

Maggie's temper caught fire. "Listen here, you tin-coated _twat,"_ she said, dashing up to the Securitron and getting up into its "face". "Maybe you might want to tell Not-At-Home that I don't give a _shit_ about his little 'business meeting'. I got to go make one myself with that rat-faced _bastard husband_ of mine, so House can go fuck himself!"

 _"Jesus,_ Maggie," Boone muttered, behind her.

She spun her head on him and backed down from the robot, growling. "I'm sorry, but I'm not in a _real_ fucking _good mood,"_ she snapped. "And keep it _down,_ you asshole. No one needs to know who I am."

Boone made no attempt to respond, just kept his mouth shut and stared away from her, looking at the Gomorrah. Maggie suddenly realized that she was right across the street from home, and making a scene. Eventually someone would come out and hear her and realize who she was.

Which would blow her cover, and ruin any sneakiness she might be able to pull off. She swore under her breath, long and quiet.

"It's very important!" Victor said, and wheeled away to the door. He stood silently in front of the Lucky 38, waiting.

Well, _fuck._ Maggie stared at the tower again, then sighed. "You stay _put,_ asshole," she muttered at Boone, and entered the doors.

* * *

"You won't be given the same chauvinistic treatment from myself," House said. "If Benny has the chip, you may deal with him as you see fit. Once you return it to me, your delivery is complete... and there will be opportunity for future employment."

Maggie stared up at the monitor. It was real fucking surprising, seeing the big boss of Vegas being a face on a computer. She'd lost her words and couldn't react to his overbearing speech, just stood there and bobbed her mouth occasionally. Never been struck dumb before. It was unsettling.

"If I march in there and beat his ass bloody―" she started, then wavered. "And he _doesn't_ fucking have it?"

"Oh, it's guaranteed that he is in possession of the platinum chip. Benny is _acutely_ aware of its importance. I was training him as my protege, but he..." The face on the computer didn't move, but flickered with the age of the machines. "I will not tolerate such betrayal, as a mentor. You may do as you wish, Magdalene."

She groaned. "Maggie," she said, grumpily. "Call me Maggie, if you gotta."

"Retrieve the chip. Our conversation is finished." The monitor blinked and the words "connection lost" came up.

Maggie sighed and took the stairs two at a time to the elevator. She walked back outside and snagged Boone by his collar, dragging him up to the suite and smiling at the sight of his angry face.

"Look at this," she said, sweeping an arm out. "Best goddamn hotel room _I_ ever saw." He wasn't impressed. Maggie shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm gonna eat something and then go kill Benny."

"And Nero?" he asked, quietly.

 _"Down,_ boy. Benny first." She was in a good mood, now. Was _nice_ to not worry, for once. To not need to think about anything, but just enjoy a nice meal and take a nap without feeling dirty.

Fucking wasteland. Maggie wasn't made for the _outside_ world. Not since she'd grown up in New Vegas. She was gonna fucking kill Benny and get herself some nice brownie points with House, and _then_ she'd―

Ah, she'd think about it later. Boone didn't look amused at her good mood, but she didn't give a shit. "Go lie down or something," she told him. "You look about as beat as me, man."

He wandered off. Maggie cracked her neck, laid her machete on the kitchen table, stuffed her face until she felt sick to her stomach, then wandered into the bedroom and passed out.

* * *

It was midnight when she woke up again, dragged herself out of bed and bathed, then went poking through the rooms for Boone. He was sitting in the kitchen, looking at the wall without any expression, and drinking a Nuka-Cola.

"Look," she said, slowly. "I know I _promised_ you we'd kill Legionaries―and this _isn't_ that―"

"Do what you need to," he said, abruptly.

"Alright, but I don't want you coming along. I can't guarantee I'll walk out of there alive." Maggie scratched her head and then twisted a strand of hair, snarling at it. She needed a proper haircut. "It's too personal to bring you along, anyway."

"Why would you bother," he muttered, "trying to keep _me_ alive?"

Maggie let go of the hair and stared at him. "Seriously, man?" She scoffed. "Thought you wanted to be alive to get _revenge."_

Boone took another drink and kept staring at the wall. Maggie sighed and fought the urge to hit him in the back of the head, knock that stupid beret off his head. He was really fucking irritating her, right now.

She gathered up her things, jerked the helmet back over her head, and looked at her machete. Wasn't gonna be able to sneak that in, probably. But she had a few caps and there was that jackass outside of the Gomorrah always trying to sell pistols to people.

Oh, they _knew_ about him. Thought he was so _sneaky._ When given a chance to kill someone, for breaking the casino rules... well, Sal liked to watch people bite into forbidden fruit. Meant he could deliver their punishment, Kin-style. That was where Maggie got her bloodthirsty nature from.

 _That_ creepy fucker, though. Maggie grimaced and pushed the thoughts away. Didn't need to worry about the Omertas until she got Benny. After that, she'd grapple with whatever the fuck kind of reason she needed to justify killing Nero. And Sal, if it came down to it. He needed his skull _aerated,_ anyway.

And maybe after she could figure out something to do with Boone, who seemed perfectly willing to get himself killed. Maggie rolled her eyes. He needed to stop thinking he was so guilty. Maggie was just as damned as he was, and she was still trying. He didn't seem to care.

She went back into the kitchen and knocked that stupid beret off his head before she left, dashing into the elevator with a whoop and a laugh. _Hah,_ the look on his face! Maggie was in a real good mood.

 _Let's go make me a widow!_

* * *

She was impressed. Well, not with Benny, fuck, but with Swank. He actually hit on her, without really knowing who she was. Mostly she was impressed that her disguise worked, but she was also blown away by the ballsy move.

'Course, she wouldn't be Maggie if she didn't wheedle him into giving her some money. She grinned under the mask and looked around. Didn't need to ask Swank where Benny was, really. She'd only asked to make sure he was in the Tops.

Place still stunk like rotten Brahmin milk. She never understood that one. After a moment of thought and idly thumbing the new straight edge she'd bought, she jerked her head up and stared right into Benny's eyes.

He was watching the casino floor, walking around and smoking a cigarette like _nothing_ had happened. She wouldn't delude herself to think that he missed her. His parting words to her had made it perfectly clear that she was a pain in his ass and he regretted they had to part in such a _dramatic_ fashion.

Fucking bastard, he'd always been theatrical. Maggie could just see him up on stage in the Aces, giving a monologue about how he was the best thing since―ah, fuck, she didn't _know_ or _care._ She watched him for a moment, then made her way down the lobby floor to the elevators.

She let herself into his suite with her own key, and locked it behind her. It was a waiting game, now. Maggie didn't really like to wait. But this time... it would be worth it.

It wasn't long before she heard the click of the door and hid herself behind the bedroom door, watching through the crack at the hinges. Benny stepped into the suite, sat down at the little bar, and poured himself something to drink. She waited until he was nearly finished with his whiskey before she sneaked up behind him and ran her hands up his chest from behind.

"Hey baby, did you _miss_ me?" she asked, smoothly. Her straight edge went right to his throat and pressed inward, while her other hand dipped into his inside jacket pocket and stayed there. She felt the chip inside, bouncing with his jerk of surprise.

"What in the _goddamn―"_ he started, then froze. _"What the fuck...?"_

"I bet you've been so _lonely,"_ she whispered, into his ear. "Without your kitten. I hear you recently became a widower." Her hand moved around in a circle on his chest, through the pocket. "Though... seems you need to work on your _marksmanship."_

"I hit what I was aiming for. Guess you had brains to spare. Coulda fooled _me."_ Benny sounded amused. He always did bounce back fast in an argument. "Either way, baby, this is good news. Maybe I can finally sleep at night, knowing you didn't die."

"You lying _fuck,"_ she growled, and bit him on the ear, as hard as she could. He jerked and then stilled, his neck bleeding from the sudden motion. Maggie didn't move her hand, at his throat. She removed her mouth and breathed into his ear, loudly.

"Sit down, hey?" Benny wrapped a hand around his shot glass, shakily.

"No, thank you," she hissed. "You _cheating bastard."_

"Baby, getting outplayed and getting cheated ain't the same thing. ...I get it, you're sore." He began to pour himself a drink. "You got every reason to think I'm a creep. But baby, this is an 18 karat _opportunity."_

Maggie smiled to herself. "Maybe you'd like to fucking lie to me and tell me you're _not_ planning to kill me, right now." Her fingers tightened on the chip in his pocket. "I'm gonna make you a new mouth to _shit words from."_

"That temper of yours..." Benny sighed. "Baby, ease off the gas."

"Oh, _Benny..."_ she laughed, in his ear. "You know I don't go _slow."_ She nipped his neck with her teeth, hard. "I'm all stops pulled, you dig?"

"Baby, do you not understand the level of game here?" He snorted and moved his hand on top of hers, inside his jacket. "What I did to you was rotten, but if you think House, the NCR or Caesar won't kill to put Vegas in their pocket, I really did blow out your brains."

"Yeah..." she said, blowing a little puff of air into his ear. "You _did."_

Maggie pulled the straight edge across his throat and jerked the chip out of his pocket, then shoved him forward onto the bar top. She looked at the chip for a moment, before putting her weapon away and wandering out of the Tops, all casual-like.

She even whistled a little, as she pushed the outside door open.


	12. Not My Fault

Note: I blame you, Eric. This is all your fault. You're a terrible husband.

but your ideas are sound

(Edited for minor inconsistency.)

* * *

 _Idiot!_

Goddamn _idiot!_

Just―just a _goddamn fucking **idiot!**_

His hands were bruised. Under the leather the damage couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Pain spiking through his knuckles from punching the wall―from smashing the mirror. From beating in Manny's face because he'd seen him push her down and he'd thought it was―

He was not doing well. He knew that. Maggie was being very... patient with him. Seemed like she'd turned over a new leaf even though she still wanted to take revenge. Cursing like anything else, growling and fighting like a wild woman, but softer when she talked to him. He wished she wouldn't. Wished she was _still―_

Still acting like a bitch. He laughed to himself. Carla had been one, never made a big deal of it. She was aware she could be terrible, and she didn't care. Maggie... Maggie _did_ care. Around him. Maybe that was why he was so damn confused by her.

Even though he was a goddammit _idiot._ He'd fucked _everything_ up, back then.

She was hanging around, still. Supposed he should be grateful she was still there. Still around to remind him of Carla. Should be grateful that _someone_ still cared about Carla other than him. Not even Manny cared for her like Maggie did. No one did, but the two of them.

Was about the only thing they had in common, other than marching off their respective deaths.

It wouldn't be much longer for her, at least. She seemed pretty down about possibly dying again, even if she was still going to try to get revenge. And he'd be alone again. Like he deserved.

On the way through Freeside she'd stopped twice. She'd punched some drug dealer near Mick & Ralph's, knocking his hat right off of his head. Boone wasn't sure why she did that, but her words were indistinct and grumbling as she walked away. The drug dealer just put his hat back onto his head, and winked at them as they walked away.

The second time she approached the Kings' building. Maggie started muttering curses and making jerky movements, then stopped and stared at the building for a long time. She eventually turned toward the Strip and rubbed her forehead through her helmet, putting her other hand on her hip.

Was grateful she was wearing a full face helmet. He couldn't see her face to think about Carla. She had been right about thinking straight. He wasn't, but she didn't need to know that.

When she elbowed him and gestured at the Strip, all he could think about was Carla and how he'd met her. How he'd taken her with him when he was discharged, and she'd been so goddamn _happy_ about that. Made him angry, to think about it. Maggie noticed his anger. She was acting normal. He wasn't sure what normal was for _him._

Going into the Lucky 38 was a surprise. Maggie's attitude was not. She was real happy to show off the suite to him. Then she left him there, and smacked him in the head. He brushed off the beret and grumbled under his breath, glaring at her as she ducked into the elevator.

She'd left behind her weapon. Boone stared at it. A Legionary machete, for killing Legionaries. It had a good heft to it, when he picked it up. Hell, the handle was still warm from her hands.

 _Goddammit._ He laid it down and stared at the wall. Poured booze and soda down his throat, then went into the guest room.

He stayed put. Wasn't much else to do.

* * *

"Craig," someone said.

He groaned, rubbed his eye. Didn't know how long he'd been asleep. The hangover he was working on was going to be a full-blown one.

"Craig?"

"Leave me _alone,_ Maggie," he muttered, rolling onto his side. He laid the pillow over his head and kept his eyes closed.

A warm hand worked up his leg and onto his side. Boone grabbed the hand and sat up quickly, reeling from the suddenness. She gasped, and wide brown eyes were on him, blurry in his near-sleep and total drunkenness. He blinked and swallowed and then he _knew_ he'd lost it. His mind was _finally_ over that edge, finally gone―

Just―just _gone. He'd gone mad._

She smiled and looked at her hand in his. "Are you okay?" she asked, pulling his hand down onto the edge of the bed with hers, patting the top with her other hand. "You seem tired."

He breathed out in a rush, feeling the emotion welling up in his chest. He was going to cry. It wasn't fair. It _wasn't―_

"Maybe you should try to sleep more often," she said, gently.

His eyes didn't stop moving. Over her yellow hair, cut into a familiar curled bob; over her smiling eyes and her mouth poised in a half-word; down her neck and over her dress and to her hips and down her legs to her feet in pretty pink pumps―

 _"Carla,"_ he croaked.

"Who else would it be?" she asked, removing her hands from his. She looked down at her dress and back at him. "Is there something wrong with my outfit?"

It was her―he rubbed his eyes and groaned to himself. "Dreaming," he mumbled.

"Probably," she said, shrugging. "Why else would I be here with you?"

It wasn't _fair._

He reached out a shaking hand to touch her cheek. Started crying without sound. Carla had tears in her eyes, too. She put her hand on top of his, on her cheek, and gave him a tiny smile. "Craig―"

He couldn't help it. His hands went around her head and drew him to her, shuddering in a sob, kissing her all over, touching her face, running his fingers through her hair.

It _wasn't fair,_ he didn't deserve to see her in his dreams like this. Was more _punishment._

"Crai―" she muffled, and laughed in her throat. He didn't want to let her go, didn't want to stop _touching_ her―

Carla removed his hands from her hair and smoothed it out. "You miss me for sure," she said, blinking back tears. "I'm _glad."_ But she frowned.

"Carla," he groaned, stifling another sob. He pressed his face into her neck and held her, just―held her. Like he'd _never_ see her again.

Because he _wouldn't. Knew_ he _wouldn't._ This wasn't _fair._

"You need to stop doing this," she whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. Her arms went around his shoulders, holding him gently. _Christ,_ he missed her. Even just being with her in a _dream―_

He cried. Like Maggie had cried on his shoulder. She'd needed it then. He needed it _now._

"Craig, I mean it," Carla said. "you have to stop. You can't keep seeing me, even in Mag. She's not _me._ I'm _not here."_

"I know," he moaned, rubbing his face into her skin.

"Mag needs your help, now," Carla said, sighing. "She's..." She made a noise that sounded almost like a growl. "She's head-over-heels for Nero. Loved him since they were little. She _can't_ kill him."

"I'll help," he mumbled. She smelled like soap and agave. He tightened his arms around her.

Carla patted his shoulder. "I _know_ you will," she said. "You'll take good care of her. She's the only person who ever loved me, after our mom died. Until _you_ came along..." She stopped as he drew back from her neck.

He put his forehead to hers, staring her in the eyes, and groaned. "It's _not fair,"_ he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and smiled at him. "I wish you didn't have to be like this." She pulled his arms from around her and moved back, looking at him from arms-length. "I... I have to leave now, Craig."

 _"No!"_ He wrapped himself around her again, and clutched her to his chest. She couldn't―he didn't _want_ her to go―

Carla muffled out a laugh. "I don't want to go," she said, wiggling her hands in-between them, pushing him back. He tightened his grip. _"Oof!_ Craig!"

"You can't―" he said, shuddering. "Not _yet."_

"I don't have much control over it," she whispered sadly, but when he looked down he saw she was smiling. "I miss you, too, you know." Her lips moved to graze his and he caught her, kissing her as strongly as he could. His hand lowered on her side, pulling her to him, rubbing the small of her back. She kissed him back, making little noises of pleasure.

 _It wasn't fair, **goddammit!**_

Carla broke off the kiss and tapped him on the nose. "Hey," she said. "You need to let me go."

He blinked at her, confused. The hangover was forgotten but not gone. A headache pounded through his brain, as he tried to concentrate. Carla looked like _Maggie,_ now, except her hair was still yellow and her eyes still smiling at him―he blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel the illusion.

"You've got to let me go," she said, as he felt the room warming up and his eyelids drooping. "Stop thinking about me. You already got revenge for me, Craig. I'm happy."

 _"No,"_ he mumbled, feeling his head nodding, and his eyes close. _"No―"_

* * *

"Wake _up,_ Boone!" Maggie was yelling, when his eyes opened again. She lifted her foot as he opened his eyes and jabbed him in the side. "We've got to celebrate!"

"Jesus _Christ,"_ he muttered, covering his head. "Leave me alone, Maggie."

"Nope! Get _the_ fuck _up,_ we _are_ going _out!"_ She enunciated every word, happily. He groaned again and stared at her. She was wearing her armor and helmet still, poking him in the side with her machete now. "Come on, Boone. I need you to be straight for me."

"Shut up," he groaned, holding his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Got a hangover."

"Aw, poor _you._ Suck it up, man, we've got shit to do." She was staring down at him in the bed. _"Benny's dead, hell-o!"_ She was grinning. Could hear it behind the mask.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, holding his head with both hands. He stayed prone, willing the room not to spin.

"Shit, you really _do_ have a hangover. The fuck you drink?" Maggie leaned down to look at him closer and he could smell that same agave and soap mix. He pressed his mouth together to hide the whimper he gave. "Man, you look _sick._ You okay, Boone?" she sounded concerned, now.

"I'll live," he mumbled. "Go _away._ Let me sleep."

"Nah, you gotta drink some water―" she glanced up and away. "Maybe more booze. We're on a _timeline,_ man."

Her footsteps echoing through the room bounced around in his head, and his stomach gave an involuntary heave. _Dammit._ Last thing he needed was to throw up.

Maggie slammed the door when she returned and he winced, hiding his head under the pillow. "Not sure it's a hangover," he muttered.

She laid a hand onto his forehead, making him jerk. "Think you're running a fever," she said. She uncapped a bottle and handed it to him. "Booze won't help. Here."

He drank. Nasty irradiated water but she shrugged and said it was the best she could do, right now. Made him feel worse. Laid there, thinking about the dream.

His fucking brain, the _traitor,_ made him dream about Carla. _Goddammit._

"You were talking in your sleep," Maggie said, recapping the bottle and putting it to the side. She sat down on his legs, making him grunt in pain, then adjusted herself.

"Dream," he muttered.

"Musta been a good one," she said, her voice chipper. God, why wouldn't she leave him alone. He just wanted to go back to sleep. She'd made him wake up, anyway―made him angry. He could have had more _time._ In the dream.

"Go the hell away, Maggie."

"You ain't getting rid me, mister," she said, giddily. She actually giggled like a little girl. It was weird, and made him stare at her for a moment. "What? I'm happy!" she said, kicking out her feet. She was acting like a kid that got a present.

"I get it," he groaned. "I get it. _Go away."_

"I'm too excited!" she said, laughing. "Besides, what are _you_ going to do about it? Sick as a dog, over _here!"_

Grumbled under his breath. "Was a nice dream," he muttered. "You woke me up."

"Bah, you'll get over it." She waved a hand at him. "You know... I think this is the most you've said to me since we left Novac," she added, thoughtfully.

That just reminded him of the kiss. And beating up Manny. And Carla in his dream, kissing him―he sat up and pushed Maggie off of the bed, wobbling. _"Go,"_ he said, trying to mask his anger.

Maggie was up from the floor and in his face in a flash, pressing her nose against his. Once again, her mood swings were instantaneous. "I ain't afraid to beat up a sick man," she said, threateningly. "Why the hell you taking out your anger on _me,_ you _asshole?!"_

Christ, she still reminded him. He stared at her, feeling her breath oozing out from around the mouth cover. The room was incredibly hot. His eyelids felt like they were glued open, his eyes dry, his head pounding in pain.

Didn't answer her. _"Huh,"_ she grunted, and stood up, looking down at him. "You dream about something horrible? That make you so fucking grumpy?"

Boone rubbed his eyes again and looked away. "Carla."

 _"Oh."_ She got very quiet. _"Shit."_

He glanced up at the ceiling as if to ask for divine patience, then looked back at Maggie. "What," he said.

"Nothing," she replied, defensively. "It's _just,_ uh, I was thinking up a plan for taking down Nero, is all."

He shouldn't take the bait. Knew she was hiding something. Maggie had been completely truthful with him, once she needed to trust him. This plan she had was probably something stupid and likely to get her killed if she didn't want to volunteer anything about it.

Couldn't let Carla down, though. "What, what did you do," he muttered, regretting he had to ask.

"Shit, man, _you_ suggested it," she said, her voice rising in pitch.

 _Goddammit._

She pulled the mask off of her head and a soft bunch of blonde hair tumbled out, framing her face messily. Maggie jammed her lips together and crossed her arms and stared at the wall, stubbornly.

"This is one hundred percent _not my fault,"_ she muttered, after a few minutes of silence.

He couldn't help it. She looked too much like Carla. He pulled her down to the bed by her jacket and wrapped his hands around her head and he kissed her again, but this time... this time he knew he was kissing _Maggie,_ and _he couldn't help it._

She was killing him slowly. And he _wanted_ it.


	13. Complicated

Note: Ah, it was bound to happen. Disclaimer, sex.

* * *

 _Damn,_ he was a good kisser.

She didn't push him away, but pushed him down, onto the bed. Her knees moved to either side of his legs, leaning over him and planting her hands beside his head so she wouldn't fall over. After a ridiculously long kiss―one that she unashamedly enjoyed, hah, wasn't _she_ an idiot―Maggie pulled away from him and looked down at him. "You're sick, Boone," she said, trying not to tease. "You trying to give me _germs?"_

"Maggie―"

"Shut up. You need to knock that shit _off,"_ she told him, moving upward onto her knees. "I might be in a great mood but I ain't putting up with―" She stopped. He'd called her by her name, not Carla's. "Wait," she said, confused. It wasn't like the first time he got all weird on her.

Boone pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down on top of him. She grunted as she landed on his chest, glancing off of him to the side. "What the _hell,_ man?" she grumbled. He squeezed her closer and held her tightly, shuddering.

She _knew_ it was a bad idea to get her hair changed, but her plan to take down Nero―well, any way she looked at it, she knew she needed the element of surprise. Nero wasn't gonna go down easy, not on his home turf, and every little bit helped. If he thought she was Maggie but she showed him she was actually Carla, there would be a slim second of confusion in which Boone could kill him for her.

Plus she'd figured Boone would be too angry to care, but obviously that dream he'd had made him lose _all_ his marbles.

"C'mon, man!" she said, pushing against him.

Boone held her, rubbing his face into her neck. Maggie stopped pushing for a moment and looked at him. His beret was crooked―she thought that was funny―his sunglasses were gone, and he was sweating slightly. His head was hot, very hot, against her neck. Definitely had a fever.

"You're alright for a country boy, but I ain't saddling _this_ Deathclaw," she told him. "Let me go, I'll find you something to bring down your fever."

 _"Maggie..."_ he mumbled, and a sharp sensation went down her neck where his mouth was touching her. She shivered and pulled as far away as she could, placing one hand onto his face and putting her weight onto him.

"Seriously, Boone," she growled.

"Don't you ever just need a _hug,"_ he mumbled under her fingers.

"All the _goddamn_ time," she replied, "but you―" She grumbled under her breath. "You've got a damn fever, man." She removed her hand from his face as she jammed an elbow under herself, trying to push herself up off of the bed.

He moved his mouth back onto her neck and she froze. "A little longer," he said. The shivers came back. Ugh, for someone who hardly ever talked, he sure moved his mouth real good. "A little more hug," he added, when she'd stopped shivering.

"You're doing that on _purpose!"_ she yelled, and felt the trembling of his hands on her back. Hell, he was turned up _loud!_ His mouth moved against her neck and she collapsed onto the bed, feeling the sharp tingles running down her body into a part of her that had been neglected for some time. His mouth kept moving and she started―wanting more― _hell!_ She couldn't!

Stupid fucking Benny had _never_ kissed her like this. He wasn't worth two caps rubbed together, in bed. Maybe if he'd played a better game she might not have been so awful to him. This―this was _pure torture,_ wanting it but not needing the complication―Boone's hand slowly dipped down to the small of her back. "This ain't _fair,"_ she whined.

He chuckled into her skin and she almost dissolved on top of him. _Not right now!_ She growled again and put a hand on his shoulder, pressing hard. "Fucking _seriously?!"_ she snapped. "Let me go!"

"Fine," he muttered, and put his hands up into the air, in a gesture of defeat.

"Fuck," she snarled, sitting up. "What the hell!"

Boone dropped his arms. Maggie stared at him. He stared back. It was a tense moment, broken only by Maggie. She looked away and scooted herself onto the edge of the bed. "Not a good idea," she muttered.

"No," he agreed.

 _"Why―"_ Maggie growled under her breath. "You are pushing my _patience,_ man."

"Doesn't take much," he replied.

He was definitely teasing her. Maggie turned her body slowly, narrowing her eyes at him. "Are you asking for a fight," she said. _"Seriously?"_

Boone shrugged, and blinked slowly, lying on his back on the bed. He looked tired, bloodshot eyes, face sweating, skin paler than his usual self. She shook her head at him and growled. He was in no shape for anything other than sleep.

Maggie got up from the bed and grabbed her helmet, stomping off to the kitchen. She wiped her neck of his spit, scowling to herself. Fine time for him to pick, to be so _fucking_ amenable! After all that shit with him―him thinking she was Carla, and now that she actually _looked_ like Carla, all he saw was Maggie?

Shit, she shoulda fixed her hair a long time ago. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten all grabby, before. She could still feel his hands on her head, pulling her to his mouth. _Hell! Goddamn,_ he _was_ good with that mouth―she laid her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Didn't feel right, taking what Carla'd had. Even if _he_ was the instigator. Even if Carla was dead, and she was officially a widow, it didn't feel good to step into those shoes. She wasn't anything like her sister. She was _Maggie._

And Maggie was... _shit!_ Shit, shit, _shit!_ Maggie was lonely _enough_ to consider it.

 _Fuck!_ She still had to deal with Nero, she didn't have _time_ for this! Had to take that bill of sale up to Sal and show it to him and make sure he understood that the bitch who sold Carla was asked to by Nero―but―she didn't have any _proof._ Only her gut feeling. Maggie sighed, laid her helmet onto the table, and reached for a bottle of whiskey.

She stared at the bottle, rubbing her thumbs on the label. Without some proof of Nero's involvement, there was no way she could convince Sal that his oldest daughter had been sold into slavery by the Omerta boss.

No self-respecting Omerta would keep tabs like that. Maggie had burned her evidence, when she got older and smarter and realized she was a goddamn _idiot._

At this point, her thoughts turned a little darker. Thinking about being Omerta. About the Family and how they operated. ...She wondered if maybe Sal was in the loop. Omertas didn't care about their girls at the Gomorrah, kept them easy to manage with drugs. It wasn't a far step away to think Sal might let Carla be sold, as some sort of awful lesson. Maggie grimaced. Sal's variety of corporal punishment, in the past, had extended to things she'd rather not remember.

And Maggie had just killed Benny―the news of his death would spread quickly. No one would know it was her, that did it. But with Benny dead, if she revealed who she was to anyone who already knew her... she might get the same treatment. The Family might fuck her up, anyway. _Bunch of fucking psychopaths._

They'd definitely be hostile if she pretended to be Carla. Nero hadn't liked her sister, at all. Maggie's heart panged in pain. She couldn't trust him anymore. But she still... She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She still had memories of when they were _good._ It still meant _something,_ to her.

She was too much of a fool to come up with a good plan. She could only make a Maggie plan, and Maggie plans were... _well._ Fists up, feet down!

She was so deep in thought, she didn't notice her surroundings. Boone came into the kitchen, plucked the whiskey bottle from her hands and tossed it aside, then pulled her up out of the chair. Maggie yelped and started to curse, but―

He pushed her up against the far wall and laid his head onto her neck again, and she rolled her eyes. "What the _fuck―"_

"Whatever you're thinking about," he said, talking into her skin, _"stop_ thinking about it."

Maggie felt the shivers running down her spine and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. _"You_ stop," she growled. "I'm getting tired of this shit."

Boone raised a hand and ran it down the side of her face, down her neck, across her shoulder and onto her side, then drew her into him and wrapped her up into a hug, grinding his hips into her. It was deliberate and she should have stopped him―but _damn―_ every single touch felt _good!_

Maggie felt the fire burning up in her, extinguished in a quick puff of smoke. "You asshole," she mumbled, giving in.

Fuck, she was surprised she lasted _this_ long. It was almost a _record._

* * *

For a guy with a fever, he was surprisingly stable on his feet. A hand snaked in between them and unbuckled her jacket as she ran her hands up the back of of his head. She pulled him from her neck and laid a kiss on his lips as he moved his other hand down, holding her ass up against the wall, moving himself into her.

Stupid leather armor made it impossible to tell how excited he was, even if she felt herself getting wet with every move he made. The electric feeling running up and down her body, his mouth moving against hers, hell, she was _ready to go!_

Maggie moaned into his mouth, feeling the buckles popping and giving way, and shook off the jacket one arm at time. She was pinned to the wall, trapping the jacket against her back. Her hands went back to his head, fingertips feeling the rough stubble of his hair. Needed more skin, more to touch. She moved her fingers down into his collar, twisting them around the rough leather, trying to get to the rest of him.

He picked her around the small of her back, carrying her to the table. As soon as her back hit the surface, she was fumbling with her pants. Boone stood back and began to methodically take off his armor, staring down at her. A tiny smile crossed his face.

"So fucking _full of yourself,_ now," she grumbled, as her buckles finally gave under shaking fingers. "I oughta _whop_ you one."

"Promise you won't?" he teased, pulling his undershirt over his head.

She growled at him. Oh, she was gonna _get_ him for that one―Maggie shimmied out of her pants and boots, and her hands went to her shirt―but his hands stopped her, leaning over her and putting his mouth back onto her neck, nipping and sucking.

One hand kneaded her chest, pinching, roaming, squeezing. She arched her back, pushing into him, moaning loudly. The other hand went down her hip, hooking her underwear and jerking it off with a couple of tugs. The air was cold and she felt his skin, warm against her own. He was damp from sweat, his smell overpowering her senses.

Fucking _hell!_ She'd _never_ had it like this! He pulled her down on the table, resting her naked hips against his still-clothed ones, grinding into her as he grabbed her by the hair and kissed her roughly. She muffled out a groan under his mouth, wrapping her legs around his hips, her hands traveling across his shoulders and nails scraping across his back.

"Tease," she growled, when he pulled away.

Boone smiled at her, moving his hands beside her head, leaning over her. "You started it," he said, quietly.

"I did _not!_ You _asshole!"_ She pinched him on the side. Boone jerked backward and made a quick motion with one hand, then pushed forward into her.

Maggie gasped and jammed her mouth shut against the long moan she gave, feeling him pushing hard into her. Her thighs tightened against his hips, pulling him closer, her arms wrapped around his neck and pulling his chest down onto her.

She found the side of his jaw and bit down, holding on for dear life, as he began to move. _Damn!_ Boy could really move! Maggie felt the moans building up in her throat, willed them not to escape. _Fuck,_ it―it felt _too_ good!

He grunted in her ear with every motion, groaning her name, and damn near crushed her into the tabletop as he moved his hands out and away. Leaning on his elbows over her, he put his mouth onto her neck and began nipping at her again, and she couldn't help the sounds she made.

Oh, and the asshole chuckled into her skin, then, she _heard_ him. _Fucking jerk._

The pressure built up, she couldn't stop it. Her back being scratched by the rough wood of the table, her legs around him, him moving back and forth across her chest, tiny little hairs tickling her. The frantic nature of their actions, her hips rising to met his as he slammed into her over and over, the exhaustion finally being relieved after days of tense behavior. Maggie's voice rose in the kitchen, overcoming his grunts of effort, and exploded into violent noise.

 _"F-fuck,"_ she yelled, "oh, _fuck!"_

Pleasure washed through her. She dug her nails into his back, cursing as he picked up speed. Shit―shit, she couldn't _control_ herself. Sweat dripped down from his collarbone onto hers, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the amazing feeling coursing through her body.

He slowed and she felt the feeling tapering away, subsiding into a dull good feeling. It could go on forever, as far as _she_ was concerned.

With one last jerk and a relieved groan, he stopped moving and collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. Maggie could feel him inside, his hips trapped against her by her legs, and slowly unraveled herself.

Boone didn't move for a moment. "Are you okay," she breathed out.

"Fever's gone," he muttered, into her neck.

"I _doubt_ that," she said. "Go back to bed, you _idiot."_

He just chuckled into her skin, making her shiver again. Maggie swore under her breath, and finally felt relaxed after having so much shit heaped onto her in the last few weeks.

Damn her for giving in. It was _complicated,_ now.


	14. Delay

Note: This chapter is overdue because it ended out 3000 words long. Sorry about that, I spent the last two days trimming it up. That's why it's a little awkward at the end.

Fair warning that updates on this fic will likely slow to a crawl soon because of personal projects in a similar vein (Emily). That and I'm at a loss for some of the plot points.

* * *

Three times. _Fucking hell._

Maggie was sore as all get out when Boone _finally_ passed out, lying beside her in the master bedroom. She was too tired to even get out of the bed, too relaxed to want to bother. He had some sort of death grip on her that ended with one hand on her breast and the other winding its way through her hips to the dip between her thighs.

 _Goddamn!_ Maggie hadn't expected him to haul her off into the bedroom after that― _horseshit,_ in the kitchen. Her leather was still in there somewhere, her undershirt on the floor of the bedroom. It was a miracle she'd made it into the room with _any_ clothes, the way he'd carried on!

But now she felt guilty. Strands of blonde hair drifted into her face, blown away by little puffs of air. She was trapped under his arm and couldn't move to fix it. He'd gone _completely_ nuts. But―he'd called her _Maggie_ the whole time―fuck, that was sexy as _all hell,_ someone saying your name in your ear like that.

She could feel his warm breath across her shoulder―his cheek was smashed into her skin―as she stared at the wall, trying to get her brain to focus. There wasn't very much she _could_ think about beyond that tiny inkling of guilt popping into her brain.

It couldn't happen _again._ Whether he was imagining she was Carla or not, it did not need to happen _again._ If he was thinking she was Carla, that made it so much the _worse_ ―but if he wanted Maggie...

 _Goddamn_ _it―_

Shit, _shit, shit._ Maggie sighed to herself, and blinked sleepy eyes at the dingy wall, trying not to imagine what he might be thinking. She'd only given in because... well, she _was_ lonely. Maggie had been lonely since she married Benny, without Carla to keep her company, without Nero to―

She breathed in shakily. A whole 'nother problem. Had to figure it out. Her brain cells were killing her with all this emotional shit about Boone and Carla. And Maggie still... _still_ couldn't bring herself to imagine her own hands killing Nero. Not even if he had gotten Carla killed.

This shit with Boone was just sex. She fucking _loved_ Nero.

She _did,_ too. She knew it was stupid, getting attached to anyone in the Family. Especially the damn Omerta _boss,_ who had been planning this take-down of the Vegas Strip since it all began, and he wasn't even the boss when _they'd_ started―gah, he was too old for her even back then. Stupid Maggie messing with Nero when she was barely old enough to bleed, sneaking into his rooms at night and thinking they had something special. Fuck, she hadn't even had _hips_ for him to grab when they started fucking around.

 _Hooray for being young and dumb,_ she thought. _I only got older. Didn't get smarter._

But Nero wasn't blood, like Carla was. And she knew he'd somehow worked this stupid plot to get her taken into slavery just to show her the power behind the Family. Maybe there was something going on that Maggie was too _dumb_ to see; maybe there was another layer to this whole thing that she couldn't _understand,_ just yet.

She heard a slight snore behind her, and rolled her eyes. There were definitely too many layers to _that_ one, she thought. She ought to just enjoy it, but... _shit,_ when did she start caring about _this_ kind of crap?

Benny was _dead._ Maggie was a free woman, she could fuck whoever she _wanted._

Even if it was her former brother in law with some serious problems and an enormous d―

* * *

Maggie jerked awake some time later, hazily remembering why her arm was numb, under a hairy and heavy arm. She pried Boone's arm off her side, got dressed, and hauled herself down to talk to House. Just peeled herself off of the mattress and paced on the elevator floor while it moved to the penthouse, then angrily stomped down the stairs.

There was business with _Nero,_ and then there was business with House. She could, at least, do _this_ part much quicker and without any problems. _...Hopefully._ Maggie was pretty angry when she approached the monitor and threw the platinum chip at the screen.

"So tell me why this damn thing is so _fucking_ important!" she yelled.

"So crass, Magdalene." House's face on the monitor never changed, though his voice was irritated. "I would expect you to have questions, naturally. But did your parents never teach you basic manners?"

Maggie laughed so hard she cried, filling her goggles with moisture. When she was able to hold a conversation again, she laid her hand onto the panel in front of her and grumbled under her breath. "Look, you asshole, if I had known that Benny was gonna pop my head like a _fucking balloon,_ I wouldn't have bothered to do the job. So maybe I _deserve_ to know why it was worth my life!"

"I take no responsibility for that; we were both unaware that Benny was planning deceit." House made an exasperated noise. "The chip must be installed into a bunker under Fortification Hill. I trust you can manage that?"

"Where the fuck is―" Her Pip-Boy made a noise. Maggie looked down at the damn thing―she'd ignored it mostly, preferring to enjoy the wastes as a never-ending terrifying thrill ride, but she did admit that it was a good way to map places.

"Oh, _hell_ no," she said, her eyes widening. "Ain't that where Caesar and his goons are?"

"It is," House answered. "They've been squatting atop the bunker since the first battle at the Hoover Dam."

"I go there, I'll have to kill them," she said, soberly.

"I'd rather you not." Maggie stared up at the screen. "There are many factors in play in the Mojave. The longer Caesar continues to be a thorn in the side of the NCR... well, the more one could accomplish, for the benefit of New Vegas."

"Bunch of _horseshit,"_ Maggie muttered. She retrieved the chip and sighed. "I'll see about it."

"Goodbye, Magdalene."

 _"Whatever,_ asshole."

* * *

Maggie was leaning on the door frame of the guest room when Boone woke up, eating an apple and staring at the elevator doors. He didn't move from the bed for a moment, looking up at her with no expression.

"You'd better get up, _stud,"_ she snarled. "We've got shit to do. And this time you're going with, fever or no fever."

"Alright," he said, quietly, and gathered his armor. Maggie watched him without a word, wondering what had prompted― _everything._ She wasn't asking. Shit, she knew _better_ than to poke a cazadore nest. Wasn't nothing but teeth and claws and death waiting for them out in the world, and she couldn't afford to think she _wasn't_ gonna get killed.

Living in Vegas had made Maggie soft. She scowled. Without Boone, she was _already_ dead. _Hell!_

Not to mention she had to push all that guilt, about Carla and taking what she'd had, into the back of her mind. She was sure it would pop up at the worst time. Always _did._ That was why she'd attacked him on the highway, after all.

Maggie sighed to herself and tossed the apple core, pulling the handkerchief back over her mouth and crossing her arms over her chest. _Just push through,_ she told herself. _Did that for two whole fucking years with Benny. A few more... days? ...won't matter._

"We can either go across the street and deal with the Family," she said to Boone, jamming a finger into the elevator button so hard she hurt herself, "or we can take a little trip south to Cottonwood Cove. _I_ vote the Cove."

He jerked in surprise behind her. Maggie kept her eyes forward. She figured he'd be all for going after Legionaries. Didn't know what else to expect from him. The jerk was all over the place, anymore. Shit, she'd _never_ known what to expect, she didn't even know why she bothered trying to make sense of him.

After that―shit in the suite, _huh._ Physically, Maggie was pleased with the outcome. He was cute, in a shy little boy way. And he was sad as all fuck, which made her feel bad for him and want to help. He was a wall of steel and strong muscles, definitely had a lot going for him in body language. Great sex. Just― _really_ fun.

Not worth the anguish she felt about this whole situation, though. Maggie was virtually identical to her damn sister, now. She really should have expected him to be stupid about it. She was _so fucking dumb._

Everything in her brain was beating her mercilessly, accusing her of using the jerk. Berating her for giving into his advances when he was _clearly_ having trouble with―with her stupid sister and that dumbass idea to play like Carla. All this crazy coming off of Boone and the lethality of her own troubles―she was starting to wonder why she didn't just walk off into the wastes and go be dead in some desert town. It wasn't like it would be very _hard_ to find someone to shoot her again.

She'd dealt with Benny. There wasn't much keeping her here but some moral obligation to do right by her past. To prove that she wasn't a psychotic bitch, to join Carla and her mother in Galilee or _wherever_ they'd gone when they died.

At _this_ rate she was going to go to hell. She couldn't change who she was, her temper, her need to fight like a cornered animal. Maggie didn't go slow, like she'd told that bastard. She would burn herself up anywhere she went.

"Where _to,_ jerk?" she asked Boone, as they stepped onto the casino floor. "Gomorrah or Cottonwood Cove?"

"Maggie," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She actually flinched at his touch, then smacked herself in the face and stomped across the floor. "It's _not_ going to happen again, you know!" she yelled. "You got _lucky,_ that's _all!"_

"Calm down," he said, staring at her.

She said a few words under her breath that would have made her father proud. _"What,_ then?" she snapped, from across the room. She backed up toward the door, suspiciously.

"The Cove..." Boone exhaled forcibly. "I've been there before."

She pursed her mouth. "And...?"

"...It's where they took Carla."

Maggie stopped and laid her foot down in front of the exit, turning her head to look at him. "Well, then," she said, "I guess we ought to take care of old business _first,_ huh?"

* * *

 _"Stupid_ fucking robot, _stupid_ fucking caps, _stupid_ fucking ammo prices―" Maggie slammed her hand against the glass of the Gun Runners kiosk, and made a face under her helmet that was lost on the robot. _"Stupid fucking assholes!"_

"Just pay for it and let's go," Boone said, quietly. He'd been standing behind her for thirty minutes, waiting patiently, while she browsed the selection.

"I suppose you want to march into the Cove with only _one goddamn gun_ and _no_ ammo?" she snapped back at him. "I need something―and this _stupid fucking robot―"_

Boone moved up behind her, interrupting her. He grabbed her hand, pulled it from the glass, and stared her down. "I only need my rifle," he said, seriously.

Maggie stared at him for a moment. He was too intense for her, today. _"Goddamn,_ man," she muttered, and jerked her hand away from the sniper. Her heart was going like a submachine gun, pounding against her chest hard. _Fuck!_ She couldn't―not _now―_

He seemed back to the cold-hearted Legionary killer that he was before. Like all that _want_ was gone from him after all that sex. She was almost a little disappointed―but she kicked herself in the head and tried to remember why she was grumpy.

"I want that _big_ one," she whined, jamming her hand up against the glass and pointing to an anti-materiel rifle.

Boone shook his head at her. "I doubt you could use it right," he said, and she bristled. "Go for a shotgun, Maggie."

She ran a hand up to her forehead again, rubbing it through the leather. Had a headache from all the yelling. And the tense atmosphere, which apparently was all on _her._ Fucking _hell._

Ended up buying a lever-action shotgun. It wasn't great. Didn't have too many shells, either. Maggie played with it as they walked away from Gun Runners, twirling it and getting a feel for the grip. On a lark she aimed it at Boone, who muttered something threatening and kept his eyes on her until she removed it.

"I'm not gonna _shoot_ you," she said, teasing. "If I killed you it would be with my pigsticker." He coughed something that she didn't catch. "What the fuck are you going on about, man?" she asked him.

"Figured I was immune," he said, almost hopefully. Maggie growled and shook her head at him. Fucking playing at being coy, now? What the fuck―

As they marched silently down the highway toward the Cove, she tried not to think. At all.

Yeah, like _that_ was gonna work out.


	15. Hell of a Headache

Note: A bit short, sorry. I aim for 2500 words per chapter in GATG. Also, I know, I know. I've done this kind of crap before. You think of a better way to get Courier Six into the Fort without Boone, you let me know. At least he was awake this time (probably makes it _worse,_ though).

* * *

They camped along a ridge at an abandoned mine shack, as night began to fall. Boone took out feral NCR ghouls coming out of Searchlight, and Maggie pulled her shotgun to give it a try. She was disappointed that the ghoul didn't go down very easy; took her five shots and Boone watched her kicking a yucca afterward, one eyebrow raised.

"Shoulda got the rifle," she grumbled to herself.

After the area was as secure as could be for the open wastes, Boone went off to nap. Maggie sat alone, outside the shack door, on "guard duty". Really, she didn't want to be alone in the shack with Boone. She was still pretty nervous about everything.

Watching out for shit was _boring._ Maggie felt herself falling asleep around midnight. She turned the radio down low on her Pip-Boy and listened to Mr. New Vegas; Swank was on the radio talking about Benny chasing angels up in heaven. She made an incredulous noise, laughing at how _stupid_ it all was. Fucking Chairmen and their machismo. As if Benny was ever gonna go _anywhere_ but _down!_

Boone sneaked up on her as she was listening, rolling her eyes and making little pissy comments to herself. Maggie jumped out of her skin when he cleared his throat behind her, switching her Pip-Boy off with a startled motion.

"Fucking _hell,"_ she yelped, willing her heart to stop beating so damn fast. She knew _why_ she was nervous. She was afraid the jerk would try something again. He was on and off like a lamp; she couldn't tell when it would happen. She knew how it would _end,_ though. Just like all the times it had ended with _Benny_ ―and like it had with Boone, the other day―

She knew her limits. Once the option was open, she would just get more and more frustrated until she picked another fight, or flat-out attacked him for sex. It wasn't _fair._ Still couldn't change who she was, only what she looked like. Maggie ran a hand up to her head, stopped herself from rubbing the bullet wound. At least he was better at that than _Benny._

 _...Be_ fucked or _get_ fucked sounded pretty normal for her, actually. She sighed in relief. At least _that_ was alright.

"Hey," he said, holding out a hand to help her up.

Maggie glared at him and pushed herself up without taking his hand. "Is it time to switch?" she asked, testily.

"Yes," he said, dropping his hand, "But I have some questions, first."

"About what?" She let her own hand fall to her side.

"About Nero." Boone rubbed his neck. "You said you can't kill him."

Maggie turned away and stared out over the mountains, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't," she agreed.

"Why not."

She pressed her lips together and sighed out through her nose. "It's like―" She glanced back at him. "Look, when you... did what you had to, you didn't _think,_ right? You just... _did_ it."

He didn't answer, but turned his gaze out over her head. Maggie grumbled and stared at the sky. "Alright, so... I'm not as strong as _that,"_ she answered. "I..." She made a frustrated noise. "I love him."

Boone stood there, staring at the the distance for a few minutes. Finally, he nodded and moved up closer to her. "I understand," he said, almost so quietly she didn't hear him.

Maggie clenched her fists and closed her eyes. "I just can't hurt him," she muttered to herself.

Too many years of messing around, too many times he was there for her. She'd _trusted_ him, and even if he broke her heart with this―revenge on Carla―it hurt her to even think about it. She breathed out and tried to push the thoughts from her mind.

Boone laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a hug, a gentle hug that was really nice― _shit,_ she was right about needing a hug all the time, but it was that closeness that was going to damn her into doing stupid shit―

"Relax, Maggie," he said, when she flinched again. "Just a hug."

In the darkness, watching the stars in the sky and feeling the close warmth of Boone, Maggie sighed and let herself relax a little. "It's just too _complicated,"_ she muttered, rubbing his hand. "It can't happen again."

"...Why would Nero let you get married?" he asked, after a quiet moment.

"I wasn't _suppo―"_ she scoffed. "I doubt he actually _cared_ about me. You don't get to be big shit in the Omertas without giving _no_ fucks."

"Why would you want that―"

Maggie pulled herself out of the hug and pushed him away. "Why would Carla want _you?"_ she retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. "I mean, _I_ figured she just wanted to get off the Strip, long enough so she wouldn't have to―" She made a frustrated noise. "Only reason no one dragged her home kicking and screaming was because Nero was gonna get her back for being a _traitor._ I was supposed to kill Benny when Carla got hers, and then we were gonna rule the Strip, together."

Boone looked uncomfortable at the thought. She rubbed her knuckles along the split, trying not to imagine how he must feel. She knew how she felt. Angry, _nervous,_ exhausted. Too much going on around her.

"You don't even know the _half_ of it, man." She looked up at him through the goggles on her helmet. "Lots of shit goes on in Vegas. It ain't _easy,_ living up there." Maggie felt her fingertips digging into her palms again. "I can fight hard, but I can't win at _words._ I'm stupid, and I know it. Can't change who I am."

"Maybe not," Boone said, staring at her. She didn't know what to make of his expression; almost like he'd been before, conflicted, but some of that weird look he'd had when he was over her on the table top. Made her more nervous than ever.

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep," she said, moving away from him. Didn't want to chance being near him, if he was inclined to start that again. "Wake me up when it's my turn on watch, jerk."

"Good night, Maggie."

She grunted and waved him off.

* * *

"Well, I glad _one_ of us remembered to get binoculars," Maggie said, staring down at the Cove over the edge of a cliff. "Fuck _this_ shit, I quit drinking and my eyesight goes to _pot."_ She squinted and grumbled to herself.

He'd brought her up to a little sniper nest on the hill to the northwest of Cottonwood Cove. Boone was lying inside of a blind with a pair of binoculars, on his stomach with his rifle beside him. She was crouched near the edge next to him, trying to make herself hidden behind the blind.

There were a _lot_ of men down there, more than she'd expected. Maggie nervously edged away from the blind, backing up so that she wasn't forced to see the entire camp. It was way easier to convince herself they weren't about to do something _really_ fucking _stupid_ when she couldn't see the entire amount of enemy.

No doubt the Legion _was_ their enemy. Kept attacking them on the road, sent assassin squads out to take her down, enslaving people like Carla and crucifying the rest. Maybe Benny was right about that damn chip. She could feel it trapped in a pocket at her side, pressed tightly against her by the leather armor. Maybe the Legion really _was_ willing to pull out all the stops to get into Vegas.

Maggie moved even further back. She wasn't _afraid_ to fight for Vegas―just didn't want to die again. She didn't have any real ties to Vegas, now, but it _was_ home. Just― _goddamn,_ there were a lot of idiots down there in sports equipment! If any one of them had half as much shit on them as the _last_ batch that tried to gun her down―

Boone reached out an arm and grabbed her ankle, stopping her from moving backward. "Don't move," he said, very quietly. "You'll attract attention."

"I'm _sorry,"_ she hissed, "but I don't really feel all that fucking _confident_ about this stupid _plan!"_

"Be calm, Maggie." He released her leg and glanced back at her.

She was real glad she had the recruit helmet on, right now. Even if she could feel those muddy eyes boring into her every time she turned around, at least her face wasn't betraying her with her damn emotions. Angry or frightened, she didn't want this jerk seeing her out of sorts.

Maggie crossed her arms, laying her elbows on her bent knees and groaning quietly. "I don't _do_ calm, you jerk."

A tiny smile edged onto his face and he adjusted his grip on the binoculars. "I know."

"Whatever," she muttered, and looked up at the sky, watching the hawks circling the area. Thought about Benny again, after hearing about his death on the radio. Thought about the Strip and home. It sucked, being _accountable_ for shit. Maggie wasn't dependable; she'd done what she wanted for too long to be saddled with this job and be expected to do it right.

She would fuck it up without Boone around. Probably would fuck it up _anyway._ Fists up, feet down usually meant she got her _ass_ kicked. She put out as much as she got, though.

Maggie chuckled under her breath, and looked down at Boone. "You know... after I killed Benny, there was this asshole up on the Strip, stopped me coming out of the Tops." No reply. She kept talking, anyway. "He gave me some stupid medallion."

His head swiveled to look at her. Maggie shrugged and met his gaze. "Said it was a Mark of Caesar, or something. Was supposed to get me up into the Fort without being attacked."

Boone raised an eyebrow and laid down the binoculars, turning in the blind to face her. "Legion spy," he muttered. "...Did you kill him?"

"No," Maggie said. "Man, I ain't _fucking with_ no Securitrons on the street! I did that once, got myself shot at." She rolled her eyes at him. "Ain't worth it! Wasn't worth it _then,_ either!"

Boone turned back to look down at the Cove, his hands wrapped around the binoculars. It was a moment before he spoke again, in an amused tone. "Is that how you got that scar on your―"

Maggie flushed and growled. _"No!"_ She knew what he was referring to. _"That―_ that was _Carla's_ fault, thank you―and _stop thinking about my ass, you jerk!"_

Boone's mouth tugged up into a smile. "I'll try," he said.

She pinched her face at him. He kept smiling. "What _the hell,_ man?!" she snapped, a little too loudly. The sound bounced off the rocks nearby and she winced at herself.

"It's a nice ass, is all," he replied, looking down at the edge of the cliffs.

Maggie snarled at him and stood, stomping off to the little lean-to along the rocks, standing inside of it with her arms crossed and temper soured. Fucking _hell,_ she was getting tired of his coy little jabs at her. It wasn't that she didn't _like_ the idea―she did enjoy it, made her cheeks flush, made her embarrassed, made her chest flutter―and that was a weird _good_ feeling―

But she still didn't know what to fucking think about the whole situation. He was calm about it, she was flustered. Felt like her heart was flying away from her chest, beating as frantically as it was. Didn't like _that._ Maggie never felt that way about anyone other than Nero, before―she breathed out evenly, trying to calm herself down.

Goddammit, what did _that_ mean? She stared at the lean-to, focusing on a hole in the metal. It had better _not_ mean she was _falling for―_

Maggie didn't want that sentence to _ever_ be finished. She smacked herself in the forehead, groaned, and immediately regretted it. "Ow, _ow, ow,"_ she muttered, rubbing the wound and wincing. It was too much to think about, again. She wanted a drink _so_ bad.

"Maggie," Boone called, his voice barely audible.

"Oh, leave me the hell _alone,"_ she grumbled, picking up a bottle of whiskey and staring at it. Didn't want to start drinking. Her head hurt so _fucking bad_ it wasn't even funny, thumping like the fucking Rad Pack was dancing around in there. She closed one eye and felt herself wobbling.

 _"Maggie,"_ Boone said, again, moving out of the blind. "Company coming."

"Oh, great," she moaned, putting a hand over her goggles. "I got a fucking headache, can't _you_ do this one?"

Boone said nothing for a moment. She peeked out of the corner of her eye at him and saw him watching her. Couldn't even snarl at him, her head hurt so bad.

"...Sit tight," he said, moving around the rocks and out of sight.

She waited for the sound of gunshots, Boone's yelling, and angry grunts. All three came to her ears after ten seconds. Maggie breathed out and rubbed her temples with her index finger and thumb, willing the pain away. Her grip on the whiskey bottle loosened, dropping it to the ground with a clatter.

God, this was a terrible new pain. Hadn't had it before. Her head started to split in half with pain, tearing along her skull like fire. _Worse_ than fire, it burned into her brain and was too painful to handle. She felt her throat moving as she began to whine, putting both her hands up to her temples and pressing into them. She couldn't even feel the pain of her own touch through this headache.

She didn't feel the pain of whatever it was that hit her across the head, either. Her head knocked forward and she lost her balance, falling to the ground. The goggles of her helmet smashed into her face as she lay there, whimpering in pain.

Maggie blacked out without even seeing who'd hit her.


	16. Cross to Bear

Note: Boone chapters are really hard you guys. I had to crib some work from No Contest drafts to bring you this update. Sorry for the delay!

* * *

How much limit could one have, to losing one's mind? Maybe it wasn't broken but _bent,_ pushed into a shape unlike it had ever been before. Maybe... maybe he had let it distort so badly that he could never come back from it. Could never return to the person he used to be, calm and caring, loving her as best he could.

His best had not been good _enough,_ for her.

But having completely bent his mind... made it easier.

There was some benefit to it.

Now he made Maggie nervous, which was awful. The opposite of what had happened before, her making _him_ nervous because she was so much like Carla.

He knew for sure, she wasn't Carla. Couldn't compare the two. They weren't alike in his mind, not even physically. And, at this point, his mind was so bowed from pressure he wasn't even sure he was _Craig,_ anymore. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it _wasn't_ him, doing the things he'd done.

That dream, felt like it absolved him of guilt. Didn't, really. Made it worse, because he'd gotten worked up and immediately taken it out on Maggie. She was not who should have been in the way of his attention. Not who he should have been trying to―

 ** _Goddammit!_**

But... she didn't say no. He was a damn dirty bastard for doing that to her, but she didn't... she didn't stop him. She encouraged him, and it made it _worse._ Made it so much worse.

He felt so goddamn guilty. It was all too easy to let that feeling overtake him, again. To let Maggie take the hits, to let her hear the things he'd wished Carla could hear him saying. To tease her and to make her blush, like Carla ought to blush.

Fuck him, he was in a bad way.

Wished the dream could have been real.

But it _wasn't._

All he had now was anger at himself for letting things get to this point, and a horrible want to do those things over and over and over again. Couldn't let it get that far, again. Maggie was right, it was too complicated.

And he was broken, or bent―

Wasn't going to be fixed, either.

* * *

Boone stepped out into the open and invited the bullets that he knew might end his life, shooting at the Legionaries as they came over the rocks near the blind. Maggie had stayed behind because she had a headache or something―he'd learned a long time not to argue with any woman. Teasing Maggie was something she hadn't retaliated for, and straight out criticizing her would bring swears and maybe a punch. But when she couldn't even be mean to him, he knew she was hurting.

So he took care of the problem, like she asked. Least he could do, beyond pretending nothing was wrong. Beyond forgetting that he'd spent an entirely comfortable night wrapped around her naked body and enjoyed it too much for his sanity.

He wondered how Carla had given Maggie that jagged scar on her ass. He'd never seen Carla put up any kind of fists, not even when Manny and she had it out in their worst ways. It was hard to imagine her being violent with anyone, even in dark times.

Maybe there was more that he hadn't seen, to her. Maybe he'd never even really known who she was. She'd moved so quickly, and he'd been such an easy target―

He shouldn't be thinking that. The guilt crept back into his mind, infesting it. Thought about the Legion instead. About how he was going to shoot every last one of them in their fucking faces. The anger was easy to embrace, comfortable-feeling. Made things _simple._

His anger made him sane. Made his way back to the nest and reloaded his rifle. Was looking forward to getting down into the Cove and killing them all.

But not for revenge. Couldn't forget that dream, couldn't shake the feeling that Carla really wanted him to let her go. It felt wrong to let her go. He'd forgotten her once, in a very stupid way. Had his way with Maggie, let the comfort of sex ease the pain. He'd get what was coming to him, for that and for everything else terrible that he'd done. Including the terrible things he had done to Maggie.

Boone winced at himself, running a hand over his face. _Goddammit._ Had to stop thinking about it. Had to go and kill Legionaries and lost himself to the anger.

Not for revenge. But maybe a measure of justice in the wasteland wouldn't hurt. He was sane only as long as he was angry.

Boone came around the rocks and didn't see her. She wasn't in the blind and she wasn't standing where he'd left her, and there was nothing to tell him where she went. Boone didn't panic. Maggie was tough, she could take care of herself. Might have gone off into the rocks to try to stop her head from hurting by sneaking a drink. Seemed like she felt guilty, too. He'd seen her grappling with her addiction, staring at the whiskey bottle. She wanted to drink as much as he wanted to―to do things he shouldn't with a woman who was his wife's sister.

 _Goddammit._ He was a goddamn fucking _idiot._ So was Maggie, he guessed. She hadn't said no.

It was a wonder they were both still alive.

The bottle she'd been holding was lying on the ground by the lean-to and she was nowhere to be found. And there were footprints all over the dusty earth, a drag mark down the hill from the blind.

Boone gripped his rifle tightly. It was―

 _Too much._

He couldn't afford to lose _her,_ too.

His mind bent a little more.

* * *

Over the rocks, he moved into a crouch and stared down into the Cove. Listening, seeing, not letting himself think. _No thoughts._ It was good, having no thoughts.

Voices came from the left, he followed. Too loud. He was careful not to betray his position as he crept along the top of the rocks. Maggie was nowhere in sight, but a group of Legionaries was returning to the Cove.

Hah, well. Not _anymore,_ they weren't.

Bodies laid about the highway as he moved to another ridge, staring down into the camp. Maggie was still nowhere to be seen. If they'd taken her―

 _Goddammit._ He wasn't going to be able to put another bullet into her head―into the head of a woman who looked like Carla―

Legionaries milling about were surprised, but reacted quickly, when bullets began streaming into the camp. He shot until he was forced to reload, moving on the ridge, keeping hidden among the rocks.

Ten, twenty, _thirty._ He lost count. Didn't matter. He had well over two hundred rounds, and he was sane.

Had to be sane. If he wasn't angry, he wouldn't be able to―to find her again. To get her back. To do what he'd desperately wanted to do for Carla, but hadn't the balls to. To get her back, and kill all those bastards for taking her.

For ruining his life. Ruined Maggie's life, in a way. She hadn't even known, and they ruined her life.

Some justice needed _repaid._

Repaid with blood on the dry earth, for the blood that she'd spilled before, for the blood of the innocents he'd killed―

The world wasn't _fair._ It didn't work like that. He went down with less than fifty rounds left.

The bastard that sneaked up behind him, he shot through the goggles on his helmet. Couple more, coming around the bend in the rocks, he picked off without trouble. The one bastard had a sledgehammer and a light step. No one could withstand a hammer to the fucking _head―_

They dragged his body down to the camp at the Cove and he guessed it was justice, finally. He would get what was coming to him, now. Tried not to think about Maggie, about where she'd been taken―

He didn't say a goddamn word until they fucked with his beret. Saw the First Recon symbol, ripped it off his head, destroyed it. Guess they'd had enough of the NCR picking off their fellows. _Fuck Caesar!_ He spat, cursed, struggled. Kicked, bit, everything he could manage. But the fucking bastards had him tied good and tight.

He knew it earned him the crucifix. That comment―probably the nastiest thing he'd ever said in his entire life―broke his nose again, he'd headbutted one of them. _Bunch of_ _pussies,_ he joked, _come get some. Make my fucking day, assholes!_

He chuckled to himself. Fuck, it hurt being up on the cross. Was worth the pain. Killed as many as he could, in his lifetime. It was worth it. His mistakes were coming for him. From the wastes, from the Legion, from the karma he'd been ignoring. Maybe she'd been bad karma too. It was his karma to bear. His cross to bear, now.

The pain was only temporary. He'd be dead soon enough.

 _And God help Maggie, wherever she is._

* * *

"Are you alive?"

The words knocked him out of the blue, wavering on the crucifix. He was so tired. Fucking hot-as-hell sun burning up his eyesight, broke his sunglasses back in the Cove in that fight. He grinned again. _Yeah, still worth it._

Boone spat blood onto the ground. "Fuck off," he mumbled. At least, he thought he did. It was getting hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. _Thirsty._ He couldn't think straight. Fucking hot-ass sun. He was worn the hell out.

"Are! You! Fucking! Alive!"

Fuck him, he must not have said it after all. Blood in his mouth. He shook his head, nodded it, moved it around. Did anything he could to move. Hell yeah, he was alive, come and get some _more,_ you fucking _assholes!_ He'd _love_ some more pain, thank you so very much. It was worth...

"Hey, _jerk!_ Are you still _alive?"_

Whoever was talking was not being helpful. If the voice was Legion they ought to be cussing or poking at him with machetes, or pissing on him and joking about rain. Something stupid like that. Not just asking ridiculous questions about his being alive. ...Damn, that _fucking sun!_

"You _are_ alive. _Fuck!"_

 _Oh, Christ, go away, voice._

Boone managed another mumble. "Fuck off, I'm just fine," was what he thought he said. God only knew what was coming from his bloody mouth, beaten to shit by those touchy pretty boys of the Legion. Boone grinned to himself. _Hell._ Hell was not good enough for Legion, Hell was where he was gonna end up―once he managed to fucking _die!_

"Fucking hell, Craig!"

Boone groaned. He felt like he was falling―was he falling? He felt the ground under him again. _What? Oh, shit._ Was he dead already and hadn't figured it out? Hell must be like the Mojave, then, exactly like it.

No big fucking surprise, _there._

Hands touching him. He struggled. Not Legion? Or some ploy, a tricky little shit with some sort of scavenging plan? Legion didn't take people down. Let them rot in the sun. Let them hang for days until they were fried by that goddamn hot-as-hell sun―

Alright, so it's someone else, _hooray,_ probably gonna steal my boots or some stupid shit. He couldn't see well. Looked like a brown blur against the white sky. A piece of shit, anyway, colors were right. He laughed at himself.

"Leave me alone," he growled, but did he? Couldn't tell... He was so tired.

"Not happening," the person said. "Come on, you jerk, move your feet."

 _Hooray._ _Fucking great, let's put a weapon back in my hands and turn me in the right direction. Legion fucked up again, couldn't even kill me._ Boone spat blood again.

Hands around his shoulders. Shouting, rifle shots. Dammit, why couldn't he have his gun. Let him shoot, even if he couldn't see, he knew which way to point. Blood in his mouth again.

"Goddamn, you're fucking _heavy,"_ the person said.

The sky was full of light. Boone laughed. Now he _knew_ where Galilee was―

* * *

It was like waking up from a bad dream.

If he hadn't had memories from the past half year, he would have thought he was at home, waiting for Carla to drag herself out of bed and be awake for him while he worked. He never liked her sleeping while he was on duty; meant she was awake and puttering about their room when he was trying to sleep, and he definitely never liked her running about Novac without him around. Too many eyes on, too many shifty people. Manny said he'd watch out for her―

He hadn't been there for her, when Carla was taken.

Boone groaned and opened his eyes to the room, looked about in a haze. His sight was damaged, he thought. Being up on that cross―

He sat upright, much too fast. Dizzy now. Vomited a little, onto the bedspread. Damn, mostly blood. Pain in his shoulders, arms, hell, everywhere there was _Boone,_ Boone hurt.

"Whoa," some voice was saying. The same one from before? Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure that had been real. Blurry eyes traveled to a bedside chair, blinking rapidly. "Lie back down, stupid."

"What the hell," he mumbled out, "is going on?"

"Bunch of horseshit. Too much horseshit," she said. _Maggie._ Jesus Christ, she was _alive―_

Boone fumbled out into the near-darkness, reaching for the sound, grabbing a body part and drawing it near, clutching at her. Eyes were still a little out of it. Couldn't see her very well. Felt her hair, touched her lips, tried to find her face with his. Too much emotion in his chest―he sighed out shakily, felt himself trembling all over.

 _"Maggie?"_ Boone asked, a little more fluidly. His mouth was dry. Sore. Legion beat the shit out of his face. Heh, maybe they made him _pretty._ There was a first time for everything―

"Ow, _fuck,_ let go!" she said, and sharp nails came across his arms. The pain was nothing compared to his relief at knowing she was alive. "Yes, it's me―ow!" She jabbed him under the ear and pushed him down onto the bed. "You fucking _jerk!"_

He coughed and chuckled and pulled her down with him, even if he couldn't see, running his hands over her hair and pulling her head to his chest. _"Maggie,"_ he croaked out, coughing and laughing some more.

"You damn near got yourself _killed,_ you idiot," she muttered, and he felt her hand moving along his chest, returning the hug.

"Worth it," he groaned.

She just laughed, meanly. "If you _say_ so, fuck, you're all torn to _shit._ Let me go. I have to go talk to the doctor bitch, get some more Stimpaks."

Didn't want to. But he did. Maggie opened and closed the door.

Boone laid on the bed, staring out into the darkness.

If he _was_ in hell... at least he had company.


	17. Imagine That

Maggie slumped down onto the couch in Boone's motel room and kicked her feet out over the arm, sighing in relief. After running all over the damn place trying to find stimpaks, she was worn the hell out. It wasn't even like she could afford to take a break. But she was so damn sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open.

It had been five days since she cut him down from crucifix and hauled him across the wasteland floor to Novac. Five days of trying to keep him alive, of making sure he wasn't gonna bite it in the night, of running up and down the highway for meds and worrying herself sick that she'd gotten him killed for no good reason.

Thank God Manny was the forgiving type. He'd come to sit with Boone while she went up to the 188. Watched him for her. Didn't even bring up the fight, even though his face was a mess of colorful bruises. Like Boone's face, only his had been smashed in real good.

Maggie'd apologized. _Had_ to, after all that happened. She needed the help. _Boone_ did. It wasn't easy for her to apologize, but all that shit with Carla was in the past and this was the _now._ In the _now,_ Manny knew the truth. After his horrified reaction to the crucifixion and his tight-lipped expression after she'd explained Carla's death―things were a lot less complicated, at least.

Maggie stared at the ceiling. Boone's reaction to her disappearance was pretty much what she'd expected of him. Given how nuts he'd been acting, his attachment to Carla, the sex and the teasing, even his own personal hatred of the Legion... she'd expected him to rampage. But not for her. Not for _Maggie._

Everything that had happened to her after she was knocked out―

She turned her head to stare at the bloodied man on the bed, blinking sleepily. Boone was pretty messed up, still. The stimpaks could only heal the physical aspect. He was still fucked in the head. Time hadn't helped, killing Legionaries hadn't helped. She'd picked him up while hitchhiking his way to insanity, and driven him _all_ the way there.

Maggie closed her eyes and willed herself not to dream.

* * *

She woke up, lying on the rough wooden boards of a barge. A man in a Legion outfit was pushing the barge up the river toward the Hoover Dam. She jerked awake with a snap to her side, and found she was still armed.

 _Whoever they are, they're damn stupid._ Maggie's fingers closed around her machete, slowly drawing it from her side before rising from the floor.

"I would advise you not to do that," the ferryman said, turning his head to look at her. "I am here only to escort you to Fortification Hill."

She bared her teeth. "Why the fuck was I _knocked out?!"_ she asked, standing and putting herself in a fighting stance.

"Not sure," he replied. "I was not told of the circumstances of your arrival."

She snarled at him. "You take me back, _right now!"_

"I cannot," he stated. "My job is to ensure you reach the hill. That is what the Mark you bear grants."

Maggie went still, and felt in her pocket for the thing, rubbing a finger over the embossed metal. She remembered the Strip and Benny and her plans, and the plans to try to get into the Cove with―

 _Boone._ Oh, _shit._ Shit, _shit, shit!_ She glanced around and then back at the camp they were moving away from. The Cove. Boone would―

Well, _fuck,_ what would he do? Maybe he would turn around and walk away. Maggie might, if she hadn't felt some compatriot spirit for the jerk. If the roles were reversed, she'd walk into the camp and chat up Caesar and ask for Boone back, and when he said no, she would lodge her machete into his head.

But no, Boone would probably just try to kill them all. That was what he'd said before. He only needed his rifle.

 _"Fuck,"_ Maggie hissed.

* * *

It took hours to reach the hill. Maggie's temper was not well-contained. The ferryman tossed her from the barge onto the ground with a sharp shove and placed a boot onto her back, leaning down so that she could hear him hiss in her ear. "If you behave in such a way with Caesar, you will not be returning to the Cove. You will fall _here,_ and _you will die."_

Maggie grinned and laughed and fought the urge to slice him up like a prime cut of meat. She'd really pulled out all the stops, cussing him out loudly and unashamedly. Earned herself some vitriol, she did. He removed his foot and hauled her up, pushing her through the gates to Caesar's camp.

It didn't faze her that they wanted her to give up her weapons. Maggie held onto her new switchblade, of course. She wasn't _entirely_ stupid. Just _mostly._

She walked free of escort, then, and gathered her senses to check out her surroundings. There were tall walls, with no easy escape. Children being drilled, running up and down the stairs. A lone merchant standing near the entrance, plying his goods. A few empty crucifixes hung nearby. Slaves wearing rags, carrying heavy bundles up and down the ramp leading to the interior. Maggie watched one woman struggling to move her package out, and thought about Carla.

If... if she had been taken here, she would have gotten the same treatment. After the baby was born, anyway. What would have happened to her baby? Surely they wouldn't kill it― _but_ ―Maggie shuddered. She didn't want to think about that. About what _would have been._

Didn't want to be _here._ Didn't want the reminder that she was about to meet face-to-face with the man who caused so much _trouble_ in the Mojave, caused the terror that people felt when they saw their fellows burned or hung up to die. She was nervous, but she wasn't scared. Couldn't afford to be, and she was too dumb to be scared, _anyway._

She smiled to herself and thought about blood. About spilling it onto the ground and laughing and getting herself killed. About _justice._

But that―that was what that _idiot_ Boone was probably doing, right now, so she needed to hurry the fuck _up_ and get the hell _out_ of this place before he―

Her heart gave a thump against her breast bone and she willed herself not to think about _that,_ to push herself into the Fort and find out why she'd been asked to come see this stupid Caesar person, and why―

Why that fucking chip she'd _died_ for was so _goddamn important._

* * *

Maggie stood at the monitor under the weather station, her hand making a "blah blah blah" motion as House spoke. Betterment of mankind and shit like that, _eh,_ she didn't think it would ever happen. People were too fucking _dumb_ to ever make what he wanted real. Shit didn't _work_ like that.

"Okay, I fucking get it! Can I _go_ now?" she grumbled.

"Please return to Vegas, Magdalene."

Yeah, she would have to, anyway. Had to deal with Nero―

Caesar seemed pleased. He thought she'd done what he asked. She didn't see a reason to let him know she hadn't. Made her inner idiot give an unabashed, shit-eating grin. Made her face twitch, trying to keep that grin in her head. She almost let loose but she was thankfully distracted by one of the hangers-on at the Fort.

The one who gave her the Mark was there, at Caesar's side. Maggie squinted at him and realized how much different he looked without that stupid tourist suit on. He smiled pleasantly at her and asked her a question that made her eyes widen.

"Courier," he greeted. "You are Omerta, are you not?"

"...Yeah," she answered slowly, lowering her gaze to his knees and sweeping it up. "What's it to _you?"_

He chuckled. "It's helpful. I had a thought that you might know how the plan is going, with your fellows." He stared at her, eyes keen on hers. Maggie realized that she'd never learned the man's name―but then, she didn't even fucking _care_ about that. This thing, this plan, though―

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. "The plan?" she tried a bluff. "Slow as fuck. Even with fire under their asses."

"Hmm." It was hard for her to tell if he believed her or not. "Well. You are to return to the Strip? Would you deliver a message to Nero?"

"Yeah, what," she said, casually.

"Inform him that the Strip will be taken by the Legion, one way or another." The man looked her up and down. "It is assured that Omertas will have what they want... _if_ cooperation is made. He will understand." Maggie understood. It was a threat. A _dangerous_ one.

"I can tell him but he probably won't listen to _me,"_ she said roughly, trying not to let her feelings get into her voice.

He laughed politely. "I do not doubt what you say is true. Though you were reluctant to meet with Caesar, I believe you can make my point known. Thank you and good day, Courier."

Maggie coughed deliberately, trying not to betray herself. _That―this―_ she turned away and stomped off, out of the fort, back down to the barge. As the ferryman was pushing off she swore to herself―should have asked about―but she couldn't let them know she didn't have _any_ idea of what he was on about―but she― _this―_

 _Fuck!_ Nero was planning with the Legion to do something, on the Strip. Or... _to_ the Strip. _What the fuck―!_

Maggie sat on the barge floor and stared out at the walls of the canyon, looking blankly into the distance. Thinking, thinking _hard._ Trying not to loose her shit right then and there.

If Nero was helping the Legion with this plan... it was meant to end with him taking over the Strip. That was what he'd wanted for all the caps in Vegas, since _forever._ Since Maggie was fourteen years old and he'd spun a tale to her about them being royalty, rulers of the Strip and everyone bowing to their whim. Since she was young enough to imagine that she was his queen. Nero would take care of her, forever and always, and they would live in such luxury―he'd whispered that in her ear, in the dark of his suite, and it had felt like a fantasy come true.

She had been a young and _stupid_ teenager, willing to hear what he said because she wanted _him_ and wanted what _he_ wanted―and now she felt like he'd brainwashed her into thinking what he wanted her to think. She'd let him talk her into _believing_ him because she loved him. She'd wanted _him_ to be happy, to have what _he'd_ wanted... but _she_ was completely unneeded.

She had always been disposable to him. He'd made the first move, getting her in his corner. Knew she was an easy target. So _dumb_ and able to be manipulated. She was a canary and he was the cat that caught her.

She wasn't even surprised, anymore. This plan was _why_ he'd given her away and excluded her from everything. Because he had a _better_ one. A better way to rule the Strip and he didn't need her stupid ass to help him take it down. Didn't want her ruling the Chairmen, didn't care if she was dead. No doubt he thought she was dead already, and he hadn't even made a move to take revenge on Swank or Benny.

He _ought_ to have. If he'd truly cared.

Maggie sniffled a little and stared at the water. Thought about the plan, before. Her running the Chairmen and he the Omertas, but no one bothering about the Ultra-Luxe―she knew that Majorie was about as bland as the stupid food she served, ever since those baby-eating _bastards_ stopped eating babies. If they _had._ Maggie still couldn't bring herself trust a fucking _cannibal._

If Maggie and Nero ruled the Strip, everything would have been perfect. He was that good, to make things perfect for them. Was able to work himself into anything he wanted. But this―this _Legion_ plan would have to be more attractive than the long-term one he'd worked with her.

It changed _everything._ It made sense, but it changed everything. Maggie's eyes hazed as she thought it out. It made _too much_ sense.

Clearly the Legion had a low opinion of Nero. Seemed like they thought shit about everyone who wasn't Legion. Nero must be trying to get them in his pocket so that he could lord over the Strip, in absolute power. ...That meant that Nero had been conned, if he honestly thought the Legion would let him do that.

Maggie laughed, loudly. It was so ridiculous she couldn't even _imagine_ it.

She kept laughing to herself the whole way back to the Cove.

* * *

She woke up tired. Looked around at the room and heard Boone mumbling in his sleep, and rubbed an eye, feeling the inescapable exhaustion creeping back up on her.

She knew _why_ Nero sold Carla into slavery. A measure of trust in the Legion had to be made. They'd probably offered to do something for Nero, in order to make him think they were on his side. But they _weren't._ They were Legion and they would never be on anyone's side but their own―and all the women of Gomorrah, who Maggie had felt sorry for, would be forced into slavery and raped and treated like Sal had treated her mother―

Maggie's hands started to shake. She couldn't let them do it. She couldn't let Nero do that, try to ruin the Strip with his ambition.

Before it had been about the _Family._ Now it was the _entire Mojave,_ and she was the only thing that could stop him from destroying this place. Stop the world from turning into what she'd seen at that camp, turning into the bad times she'd lived through before Vegas. She'd been _lucky_ to live on the Strip. If the Legion came through... they would unmake everything that she had taken for granted.

Maggie wiped her eyes of tears. She sat up and stared across the room at Boone, sleeping fitfully. He was having a nightmare or something. Looked bad, kept making short sharp breaths and grunts.

Maybe he was remembering being up on the crucifix. Maggie sighed. She was damn glad he was alive, if only because she wasn't alone in suffering.

She stood and went to the bed, lifting the corner of the blanket and slipping herself underneath. Laying behind him, with her arm, around his waist. To calm him. To calm _herself,_ and chase away the bad dreams for them both.

Maggie rubbed her face into his shoulder and closed her eyes.

There would be a _lot_ of bad dreams to come, if the Legion had their way in the Mojave.


	18. On Purpose

Note: Content warning, sex!

* * *

"Wait, so you did that _on purpose?"_ Manny asked, pointing at her head. Maggie had the hood off in the stifling air of the hotel room, lying sprawled out on the couch and waiting for Boone to get out of the bathroom. When she'd gotten into his bed the night before, she realized that they both stank to high heaven and when she got up in the morning she woke him up to get a bath. He was mostly healed now, still limped a little. Seemed okay.

Wasn't anything she could do for the sheets but open the door and air the room out. It smelled like a sickroom, vomit and blood and that death smell. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Boone was lucky she'd found him in time.

Manny had come by when he saw the door open, to speak to Boone, see how he was doing. Boone hadn't said much to her since he woke, but Maggie didn't know how to tell if that was his normal self or if he had a problem. It was pretty normal for him to be as silent as the grave. She didn't know if he'd even want to talk to Manny.

"Yes," she said, regretfully. "I―well, I had this stupid idea and it kind of ended up screwing me over." She flushed a little. _Kind of, what a fucking lie._ "Anyway, I think it will still work, I just have to tweak it a little."

"But you seriously decided to fix your hair to look exactly like your dead sister, while traveling around with her grieving husband?"

Maggie grimaced at the tone of voice he used. "Look, I never said I was all that fucking _smart!"_ She turned to glare at him and put her hands under her chin, lying on her stomach. "I ain't making excuses!"

Manny chuckled a little. "Guess that's why you started that fistfight."

"I ain't sorry I tried to knock your block off," Maggie snarled. "You _earned_ a good whop, saying that shit. I know Carla was a bitch, but, _shit,_ man―you _don't_ just talk like _that!"_

"Why not, _you_ do," he muttered, and looked up as the bathroom door opened.

Maggie growled at Manny, and pushed herself up. "Did you leave the water in?" she asked, pushing past Boone to the bathroom. Anything to escape _that_ conversation―

Boone stared at Manny for a moment, then turned and shoved Maggie all the way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He looked at her, pointedly. She knew what he was thinking.

"He helped," she hissed, pulling her jacket off. "I had to leave you here and go looking for stimpaks, and he watched you so you didn't _die."_ Maggie unbuckled a belt and looked up at him, angrily. "He's still your fucking _friend,_ you idiot, don't give me that shit."

Boone's attitude softened. He reached out and put a thumb on her cheek, running it back to her ear, making her feel twitchy. "Yeah, don't go starting _that_ shit, either," she muttered, pushing him away and pulling her undershirt over her head. "Not with _company_ over," she added, roughly, and felt her cheeks redden. _Dammit Maggie―_

Boone chuckled faintly, and crossed his arms, watching her. She finished undressing and shoved him out of the door―"Seriously, man, get _the fuck out!"―_ and settled herself into the water, scrubbing as hard as she dared. So much shit caked onto her skin under the armor, it was no _wonder_ she was fucking tired.

Maggie lowered her head in the water until it was just above her mouth and breathed slowly through her nose, thinking. She laid her head against the porcelain and listened, carefully.

Manny was asking Boone how he felt. No answer, at least not an audible one. Asked him where his beret was. No answer. Asked him what happened, why he was so beat to shit. Boone grunted out something about sizing up threats. Maggie snorted and felt water drops splash up to hit her cheeks. Yeah, _right._

Manny cleared his throat and asked what the deal was with Maggie. Ripped the bandage right off and asked why Boone beat him up for fighting with her. She sunk into the water and let out a breath, feeling the bubbles moving around her head.

Didn't want to hear what Boone had to say about her. It was bad enough she was feeling for him, between the pity for him having lost Carla, her enthusiasm for his anger, her... her want for the physical aspect of the relationship... Between all _that,_ she didn't want to know what he thought. Even _if_ she was curious as hell.

And... _dammit,_ she _needed_ a lay right now, but starting that shit up again―it was fucking _stupid._

Maggie pushed herself up out of the water and wiped her face, running fingernails along her scalp. Her head itched so damn much lately, all that grime and shit built up and she couldn't take a bath too often. God, she missed that. Up on the Strip she took baths all the fucking time, and Benny had sometimes watched her in the tub, complaining she was gonna use up all the water.

Maggie growled and ran a hand through her hair. Shouldn't even think about him. He was gone, old business, nothing to worry about.

"You're going insane, man. I'm all for getting those bastards out of the desert, but this―this _weird_ shit with _her?_ I mean it, how long is this going to go on? Until you've gone off the _deep end?_ Until you put a bullet in your own head? Maggie _told_ me what happened to Carla―"

Maggie sat up a little straighter. Manny was talking louder, his voice agitated. Shit, she shouldn't have left them out there, alone with each other. She pushed herself out of the tub and started to pull on her clothes. Shit, shit, _shit._ Her legs were too wet to shove into her leather. She dropped her pants and grabbed up her undershirt, then froze.

"Stay the hell out of my business, Manny," Boone said, without emotion.

"But, man, you―you're walking around with a woman who looks like _her―"_

 _Shit!_ Maggie pushed the bathroom door open quickly and leaned her head out, glaring at them. "I can hear every word you are saying," she snarled. "You want to think careful about that shit, _before_ you say it."

"It's fine, Maggie," Boone said, coldly. "Manny is leaving." He glared at the man.

"I'll go, but this is fucked up and you _know_ it, Craig!" Manny moved out of the motel room. Boone slammed the door behind him, then stared at the closed door for a moment.

Maggie grumbled and ducked back into the bathroom and started to pull her undershirt on. When she turned around to find her jacket, she jumped right out of her skin. Boone was standing in the door way, staring at her, without a word.

"Fucking _hell!"_ she shrieked, putting a hand to her chest and looking down. "Jesus, you really know how to sneak up on people!" Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. It wasn't _all_ because of him scaring her, she knew.

"Sniper," he said. He smiled faintly at her, then it disappeared. "Thank you."

"For what," she said, shakily reaching down to pick up her jacket.

"For last night," he said, reaching out and grabbing her around the neck, then drawing her to him.

Maggie sighed and pushed him back with a little shove, before he got any ideas. "Look, you were having a nightmare or something, and I didn't feel like sleeping on that _couch,_ and―"

Boone laid a finger on her lips and pulled her back into a proper hug. "Thank you, though," he said, softly.

Maggie relaxed a little, leaning into the hug. How did he do that, how did he give such fucking _awesome_ hugs. It wasn't _fair._

Then she felt the fingers traveling up her side and under her shirt and she smacked his hand as hard as she could. _"Boone!"_ she yelled, her face on fire.

He coughed out a laugh and moved away from her. "You smell good when you're clean," he said by way of excuse. A lame one, and she wasn't _having that,_ not right now.

"Fuck _you,_ I'm not giving it up in a _bathroom―"_ she flushed even deeper. _"Or_ in my sister's bed!" She pushed him out of the room and shut the door rudely. "Go count the ammo or something, _fuck!"_

Maggie leaned back against the door, her cheeks lit up with blood and her heart pounding. Shit, she _wanted_ to, she wanted to do him right _here_ and _now,_ but she couldn't. Just... _couldn't._ There was too much going on―

But, _hell,_ if he was being like _that,_ he _must_ be healed up enough to travel.

* * *

He caught up with her later, out in the wastes, close to New Vegas. Pushed her behind a freeway overpass and pulled down her mouthpiece, grabbing her scalp and practically chewing her mouth off. She moaned and writhed under his grasp, fighting the urge to throw him down and have her way with him. _"Stop,"_ she breathed, when he finally let her come up for air.

Boone put his forehead to hers, panting hard. "What?" he asked.

"New Vegas is like, _right there,"_ she said, exasperated. "Can't you at least wait until we get back to―" She groaned.

"Can _you?"_ he breathed out, and she pushed him backward in anger.

"Fuck _you,_ man, you ain't _that_ good," she sniped, putting her hands on her hips and staring him down. It was a lie, and a bad one. He knew it.

"Alright," he said, and started walking off toward the gate. Maggie groaned again, and walked fast to keep up. Dammit, now he was messing with her _but_ good―

Inside the gate she saw that fucking dickhead Dixon again and she knocked his hat off his head again, because she knew he wouldn't say jack shit about it. And he _deserved_ it.

Boone made a noise. Maggie turned to him as they left Dixon behind. "What?" she snapped.

"Why do you keep doing that."

"He sells drugs and _shit,"_ Maggie snarled. "I bought whiskey from him once. _Once._ And I woke up with a hangover like a cazador jammed a stinger into my _fucking_ skull." She growled and glanced back at Dixon. He was never one to react too obviously, just winked at her. "I bet he probably _pees_ in it and sells it for profit. Fucking _dickhead."_

Boone chuckled, but didn't say another word until they got back through the gates to the Strip. He pushed her into the Lucky 38 and the elevator, then had her helmet off and jammed her into the corner.

Maggie sighed and gave in, letting him hustle her out of the elevator and into the suite without a complaint. They were out of their clothes in no time, hands running over naked skin, and she let out an embarrassing squeak when he pinched her ass.

"Dammit," she said, flushing. Boone chuckled and nipped her on the neck, making her fall backward onto the bed.

He ran his hands down her sides, moving both up under her ass and thighs, then flipped her over so he was underneath. Maggie sighed and stared down at him, straddling his stomach, feeling his chest hair under her hands. "I don't think we should be doing this," she said, guiltily. "Feels _wrong."_

"Feels fine to me," he replied, moving a thumb up and pressing it into the junction of her thighs, making her draw in a sharp breath.

She put her hands onto his wrist to stop him. "No, man, I _mean_ it. It's not―it's not _right,_ I look like _her―and―"_

"You're _Maggie,"_ Boone said, firmly moving his thumb in a circle. She pressed her mouth together and moaned, feeling the waves of pleasure moving outward from his finger.

"You... _jerk...!"_ she panted, when he removed his hand.

Boone only grinned and pushed her thighs backward, moving her onto him. Shit, he was every inch she'd thought before, _shit,_ _shit_ ―she threw her head up and looked at the cracks in the ceiling and tried not to moan too loudly as he pushed all the way inside, deeper than he'd been before.

Slowly, she began to move, her thighs protesting that they had to undergo such abuse. Had been walking in the wastes too much, lately. But she wasn't about to stop now, this was a whole new kind of good.

She'd _never_ been on top, before. It was―fucking _amazing―_

Boone grunted and huffed out her name, moving up as she moved down, their hips meeting each other in the middle. God, it felt too good. She let loose a jerky moan and nearly lost it when he picked up his pace, forcing her to keep up. Maggie looked down and saw his flushed face smiling at her and she knew he was doing it on purpose―

"Slow down," she groaned, shuddering with the good feeling running up her spine. "I'm not gonna last very long if you..." she was interrupted by a wave of sharp pleasure, rolling over her. "F-fuck," she groaned. _"Slow down!"_

"Maggie," he grunted out, breathing heavy. _"Maggie―"_

The bliss that washed over her made her back arch so dramatically she thought her spine was broken, an ear-splitting shriek ripped from her throat as she held his hands at her hips and felt the tips of his fingers digging into her. Her mouth dropped open, moaning loudly with each uneven thrust he gave, bucking up into her, pushing her tired and limp body with his own.

She fell forward onto his chest, winding her hands through his hair, shakily moaning with each movement, her voice lost to the room and flying about it. That was the quickest―shit, that wasn't _even a minute_ of sex―

"Hey," Boone said, slowing to a stop. "You stopped."

"I _can't―"_ she groaned, feeling him still inside. "I can't be _on top,_ oh, _God,_ I _can't."_

Boone chuckled and pecked her on the cheek, lifting her up. She hissed and gingerly removed herself from him, collapsing onto the bed.

"Too much, I can't _move_ right now, you, uh..." She waved a tired hand at him. _"Uh."_

"It's fine," he said, moving to lie behind her. She could feel him trapped between their bodies, and shivered a little. "I can wait."

"I'll bet," she muttered, sleepily. _Fuck,_ that was―how did he come back from that shit so _powerful?_ She was groggy from the intensity. "Maybe I gave you _too many_ stimpaks," she added, closing her eyes.

She fell asleep to a laugh in her ear and a warm body at her back.


	19. Carla is Dead

Note: I skipped my whole self like a damn rock across some concrete on Friday, so I've been trying not to push myself. Should be wrapping this up in the next chapter, if not the next two. Content warning, violence and sexual assault!

* * *

She admitted it to herself, then, that he was starting to _scare_ her. Just―scared the ever-loving fuck out of her.

He scared her because of what Manny had said. About the _weirdness._ Maggie _knew_ it was weird that she should pretend to be her sister. It had been flat-out stupid to even bother with it, even for a sneaky plan. Stupid that she should dress up like her and travel around the wasteland, killing Legionaries and trying to help him out, because she felt sorry for him and because she owed Carla more than just a token "I'm sorry". She'd thought the best way to help him and get forgiveness was to play along with his attitude, that he would eventually get to the point where he'd be able to figure himself out.

He _had_ figured himself out, but she didn't like the new Boone. The new Boone was _worse_ than the old one. Like he'd given into the crazy. Maybe it was the crucifixion, maybe he was just nuts, but it _scared_ her, everything being out of control like this.

She'd tried to give him a friendly hand and help him work out his problems. But the friendly hand she'd given him... letting him work out frustration in the same way she often did―

 _Goddammit,_ it couldn't _be_ like this. Maggie had to get away from him. It wasn't fun, anymore. It was frightening, and she'd rather go home and face down Sal's worst punishment than have to deal with his insanity.

She wasn't afraid of _Boone._ She was afraid of the weird situation and his intense focus on her. He was acting like he'd never had to mercy kill Carla, that Carla had either _never existed_ or that Maggie _was_ Carla―she couldn't tell. He didn't take well to Manny's talk, and that was when Maggie had become aware that what she was doing, had _fueled the crazy._

She hadn't expected it to show itself so obviously. But it _did._

After this last good time―well, she hadn't enjoyed the sex, this time. It was _too_ much, _too_ fast, _too_ intense. He went too long, too hard, for her to keep up. Every touch burned like fire and Maggie wondered for a time what it was like to burn in hell, because if this was hell she was burning to a goddamn _crisp._

It was only what she _deserved,_ finishing the job for Carla, ruining the man. That one was Carla's fault too, but only because she'd trained him to be loyal to her. Because she'd manipulated him into becoming this machine that only _she_ knew how to operate.

Maggie'd had a thought he was taking out all the feelings he'd had for Carla, on her. It was _guaranteed_ now, she was just some sort of... sexual proxy. Didn't _like_ that. Felt like she wanted to cry. She wasn't her damn sister, no matter how much she might look like her. Or how much _he_ wanted her to _be_ her sister.

His attitude just kept getting worse, too. Maggie had great stamina, she could go at it all night long, but this time she'd passed out on the bed beside him before he was finished. Woke up after a few minutes to feel his breath down her back, a finger running down her spine. Heard him talking.

That was when _the crazy_ made itself blatantly obvious.

"I'll never go away," he said, softly, like he was trying not to wake her up. She kept her eyes closed, facing away from him, and willed herself not to shudder. "I'll _never_ go away, _never_ let you out of my sight. Not again."

 _Oh, fuck._ Maggie wanted to curl up and cry again. Her skin was breaking out in goosebumps.

"No one will take you away," he whispered, tracing the bumps of her spine. _"No one."_

She drew a breath that was a little too shaky. Boone stopped his finger, shifting position slightly. She kept herself relaxed and pretended to be asleep.

"You're all I have left," he muttered, and Maggie pressed her tongue into her teeth, hearing the words. "Nothing else matters. _Nothing."_

She waited until she was sure he was asleep, snoring lightly behind her, before she slowly moved out of the bed, grabbed up a dress, and slipped out of the room.

She dressed in the elevator, on her way down to the casino floor.

Anything that happened from here on out, she wouldn't look back.

* * *

Maggie coughed and spat up a wad of snot, staring up at the Gomorrah. After adjusting the Pre-War dress to fit herself better, she pinched her cheeks and checked her weapons, then stepped through the doors.

She was frisked and told to mind herself by a guard she didn't recognize. Maggie moved onto the casino floor, bought some chips, scanned the room, and moved to the blackjack table nearest the cage. The cashier was eyeing her up, and she flashed him a brilliant smile.

The dealer, she did recognize. If he knew her, he didn't say a word. Started the game as if nothing was going on, did his job. Maggie lost her first three bets, then ran a hand over her chips and pursed her lips as if in thought.

The dealer made a quick motion with his hand and Maggie turned around so she was face-to-face with the floor manager.

"Hello, Sciretti," she said.

"Hello," he answered. "Carla. Hadn't expected to see you back on the Strip."

"Oh?" She twirled a finger around a strand of hair, like she had seen Carla do many a time when she wanted to convince someone of something. "Well, I came back to see how things were going, y'know? Is Sal around?"

"In the back," Sciretti said, looking up and down her front. He had that trademark Omerta blank face. "I'll take you."

 _Okay, Maggie, you can do this, you know you can. It's no different than you yourself coming in, just that you gotta be nicer than ever. Play the game._ Sciretti led her to the Club Zoara doors, and saw her through. Maggie slowly walked up the stairs, running a hand along the wall. _Just get in there and give Nero the message that Legion man wanted to deliver, and―_

 _Shit,_ she hadn't planned past that, but she did have her straight edge, and she was barely containing too much anger against their stupid partnership. Maggie fluffed her hair a little, and considered her fingers. Her hands were shaking.

 _Shoulda had a drink._

"Whoa!" someone said, as she moved to the side and passed an Omerta bodyguard. The man stopped and stared at her, then flew down the stairs and disappeared. Good, her disguise was throwing people off guard.

Maggie moved out onto the club floor and looked around. Sal's office door was open; he wasn't inside. She glanced back and forth before striding over to the rooms and knocking on Nero's office door. He sometimes had a guard outside of it, but today she was lucky and he was alone.

"Come in," he said.

She paused for a moment. Held a hand to her heart and felt the sinking fluttery feeling she knew she'd have to face. _It doesn't matter,_ she told herself. _He betrayed you―he betrayed the Family―_

Maggie knew in her heart she was no longer Omerta. She wasn't a Chairman, either. She wasn't anything, anymore.

 _Don't think. Just―don't think. Do it. Don't think._

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. "Ave, true to Caesar," she began, mimicking the quietness of the Legionaries she'd heard, speaking as calmly as her heart would allow.

Nero had been leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall. He was dressed, as always, in a business suit and had his red hair brushed neatly, a disinterested look on his handsome face as he turned his head to see who had come in.

He slowly removed his feet from the desk and put out his cigarette, laying one hand on the desk and keeping the other at his lap. "Well, well, _well,"_ he said, staring at her.

Maggie let those warm brown eyes sweep over her body and tried not to imagine his hands on her, his voice whispering in her ear. The dull thud of her heart was the only sound in the tiny office. "I have a message for you from Caesar," she said, keeping any tone out of her voice.

Nero's eyes flicked up to her hair and back down to her eyes. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

"Caesar will have the Strip," she said, imitating that Legion asshole that gave her the message. "One way or another. Cooperation is expected, if you intend to reap any benefit of this partnership."

Nero flicked open his lighter, looking down at his hand on the desk, casually playing with it. The expression on his face didn't change, didn't give her any inkling of what he might be thinking. Maggie breathed quicker, unintentionally. Tried to stay _calm._ Tried not to―not to give into her panic―

 _Don't think, Maggie!_

"Interesting that they would send you, Carla," he said, tonelessly.

 _Fuck! He knew!_

Maggie whipped out her straight edge and flung herself at him, planting a knee onto his desk and raising her arm to slice at his face. The edge of the desk dug into her skin, her muscles tensed and her heart racing, as she began to move her hand down. She let the anger and frustration―and all the crazy that _she'd_ been cooping up inside―she let it all out, a guttural sound ripping through her vocal chords. _Don't think! Just do it!_

Nero swiftly lifted his leg and placed a foot square on her chest, shoving her backward and onto the floor. She coughed out a grunt when she landed flat on her back, her hands flying out to the sides, the pain of having a patent leather shoe shoved into her skin rippling across her chest. He was on her in a second, straddling her with his hands on her wrists, fighting her to keep her on the floor. Maggie's eyes were on his―she shook with anger and pain, her gaze unsteady and her mouth contorted into an awful grimace.

Nero was squeezing her hips with his knees, staring down at her. He had her pinned, and she couldn't move to fight him off. She wasn't at his mercy, yet; they were equally trapped, holding each other at bay. Nero lifted her hand from the floor, slamming it back down and knocking her straight edge from her grasp with a quick and painful motion. His perfect hair was mussed as he held her down and bent his head away from her, when she tried to snap at him and bite his face―

He laughed, and it broke the spell. Maggie felt the adrenaline rush out of her and went limp under his grip, staring up at him. Every memory of _them_ flooded back into her mind.

Every memory of him holding her when she needed to cry, every time she needed someone she could open up to and let it all out. Every memory of him smiling for her, winking at her, teasing her about her temper. Every memory of him loving her in the dark of night when everyone else was dead to the world―

"Just who _are_ you, really?" he asked, holding her without effort. "Carla is dead." He leaned back and looked down at her, his eyes traveling over her chest and stomach. "But... I know every inch of this body, _don't_ I?"

She quailed under him, trying to fight back tears.

"You thought you could come in here all casual-like, and _I_ wouldn't know _you?"_ Nero let one of her hands free, running his own across the bare skin of her chest. She felt the trail of warmth he left traveling down her body, igniting the desire she still felt so strongly.

 _No!_ Maggie brought her hand up, quickly, grabbing at his hair, but he deflected her attack down and pinned her wrist against her breastbone. Stared at her with a shit-eating smile on his face.

"I'll chew your _goddamn face off_ and eat it for dinner!" Maggie hissed, baring her teeth at him. He had her right where he _wanted_ ―she couldn't let him get to her―

 _"Maggie,"_ he said, looking at her reproachfully.

 _"Fuck you!"_ she shrieked, thrashing against the floor, trying to fight him off again. Fuck the _memories!_ Fuck _everything!_ She'd _already died once―_

Nero released her hands, dropped his upper body across hers, and grabbed her neck with one hand, brushing his lips against hers. Maggie felt the familiar comfort of his lips, warm and inviting, felt the heat filling up her body, felt his free hand traveling down her side and to the hem of her dress, bunching it up around her hip. His hand moved down into her underwear, across the soft hair and dipped to her folds.

She gasped into his mouth as he worked his hand against her, his middle finger slipping inside and thumb mashing her clit, and felt herself grabbing his shoulders. Her hands shook in fear and pleasure, his mouth on hers moving expertly to keep her mind occupied and away from any thought of hurting him.

Nero's hand on her neck began to tighten, painfully so. Maggie choked a little as he continued his assault, moaning. The wonderful feeling spreading through her lower half was to much to ignore―the safe feeling of Nero making her happy, the unconscious knowledge he would _always_ care for her―

"My _queen,"_ he said, into her mouth. "You wouldn't hurt me."

Maggie mumbled something inarticulate, arching her back up against him. Oh, God, she'd missed him _so bad―_

"I was going to give you everything you've ever wanted," he breathed, moving his mouth to gently bite at her ear. _"Everything."_

She gasped and felt herself cumming against his hand, gurgling out a moan through his grip on her neck. The lights brightened in the room, everything becoming hazy. Nero's hand continued to move along her flesh, bringing her to climax once, manipulating her gently toward a second.

 _"Ne―"_ she choked out, staring at him. She couldn't breathe―

"You won't try to kill me again," he murmured, pushing himself upward. Her chest jerked up ward into his, and his hand tightened even more, choking her. Maggie's hands went to his, weakly digging her nails into his wrist.

"You won't have the _opportunity,_ I'm afraid."

She realized, through the haze of pain and pleasure and panic, that she was going to die. It wasn't _Boone_ she should have been scared of―

"I love you, Maggie."

The world faded around her.


	20. Who?

Note: Content warning. Dammit Carla.

* * *

He became aware of a pleasant warmth on top of him, after a while. Stirred himself, moving his arms up to her hips, felt the bare skin flush against his own. Didn't remember falling asleep. Didn't remember much, not after being up on the cross.

Life was better that way. No thoughts. He liked it.

She was moving against him, warm skin and loud moans. Boone opened his eyes slightly, his vision blurred from sleep. It was Maggie. He smiled and gripped her hips tightly, moving her at a pace he felt more comfortable with. It was good, felt great, she was enjoying it, this time. Didn't want to go too fast, it would be over too soon. Last time she hadn't liked that.

"Maggie," he groaned, feeling the spike of pleasure, trying to hold back. Felt different. Reminded him of something, something he couldn't remember.

 _"Maggie?!"_ she said, angrily. "What the hell, Craig!?"

"What?"

She smacked him in the chest, lifting herself up and making a lot of noise as she struggled to get off of him. Muttering to herself. He blinked, and put his hands on her waist, then stopped. Felt different, felt like―

"Stop touching me!" she shrieked, and slapped him right across the face. _"Don't you even touch me!"_

 _What?_ His hands met a rounded stomach, belly button popped out, stretch marks and firm pressure. Boone opened his eyes all the way, staring up at her. Still struggling to get off of him, naked and pregnant and―his vision cleared immediately.

 _Jesus Christ._

"Carla?" he managed, holding her at the waist, staring at her in disbelief.

"I said, stop _touching_ me, _asshole!"_ she growled, and slapped him again.

He let her go, holding up his hands as she scrambled off of him and to the edge of the bed. "Carla?" he asked, again, trying to understand.

"I can't _believe_ this," she hissed, pulling a loose shirt over her head. "I can't believe that you would say _her_ name―"

"Dreaming," he muttered, staring at the ceiling.

"Who even knows! You're all―you've gone _crazy!"_ Carla snapped. "You know, I asked you to let me go, Craig. I didn't say _forget_ about me!"

"Carla―"

"No! I―" She picked up a pillow and bashed him in the head. "I can't believe you _forgot me,_ you asshole! I gave you two whole _years_ of happiness―" She sobbed and covered her face.

Boone sat up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "I didn't forget," he muttered, rubbing his face into her hair. "I _didn't."_

"Yes," she said, angrily. She pushed him away and stood, staring down at him with her arms across her chest. Fat tears rolled down her red cheeks, hurt eyes staring down at him. "Yes, you _did!_ You forgot all about _me,_ and put all those feelings onto _her!_ I can't believe this, I was going to have your ba―" She trailed off into a heaving sob, covering her face again.

Jesus Christ, what did he do? What happened? He didn't understand―this didn't make any sense. "Carla," he said, slowly. "Honey, you're _dead."_

"Oh, _now_ you remember!" she wiped her face messily, using the hem of her shirt.

"You... I _killed_ you," he said, closing his eyes.

"Not _yet,_ you ain't," Maggie said, when he opened his eyes. She was standing in front of him, now, where Carla had been. "You ain't gonna kill me, jerk." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I am dying, though. _You_ did that."

"I don't understand," he muttered, looking down.

"Yeah, you and me _both,_ man." Maggie scoffed and flicked a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Fuck, I only tried to help you because I owed _her._ And you've gone and made me get myself killed."

"Maggie―" he said, raising his eyes again.

"Don't you start that shit with me!" Carla yelled, pointing a finger at him. "You lousy _bastard!"_

He sat there, staring at her. Chose not to speak. Couldn't make sense of what was going on―a nightmare―it was confusing. Hoped it would end soon.

"How could you _forget_ all about _me,_ about―about _this?!"_ Her arms moved to hug her stomach, defensively. "How could you―use _her_ like that? She's my _little sister,_ Craig!"

"I―" Felt like he should try to say something. But―he groaned and covered his face. "I'm sorry, Carla, I'm _so_ sorry―"

"Sorry doesn't _work_ like that, Boone," Maggie said, kicking him in the ankle. "You said you had bad things coming. Your bad things are fucking _killing_ me. I hope you're happy!"

"What?" he asked, keeping his face covered.

"What, did you really think I wasn't paying attention? I know you're all _fucked_ in the head, Boone. Using me like I belong to you? I don't fucking belong to _you."_ A hand brushed across his head, down his scalp and onto the side of his face, covered by his hands.

 _"I belong to Nero."_

He dropped his hands in time to see Carla raising back a fist, and punching him right in the eye. The blow glanced off of him and she fell sideways. He caught her, and she dug her fingernails into his arms, trying to get him to let her go, shrieking at him. "You're an _asshole,_ Craig! A majorly _stupid fucking asshole!"_

"Carla, I―"

 _"No!"_ she yelled. "No! No _excuses!_ You're killing her! You're _killing my sister!"_ She pushed herself backward,

 _"Ca―"_

Carla beat him about the head and neck, slamming fists into his skull. "You're _killing her!_ You're _killing―"_

He turned his head and shoved her off of him, wincing as he heard her hit the ground and yelp in pain. "Stop this," he said, breathing out shakily. "Stop it―right now!"

"It's not _too_ late, you know." Maggie turned her head to look up at him, lying on the floor on her back. "You can sto―" she choked and gurgled.

Boone met her gaze, then saw a dark bruise spreading across her neck, her hands on an imaginary assailant, scratching out at the air. She spat and hissed and spit flew from her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut in pain―

 _No―_

 _ **Goddammit!**_

* * *

Boone jerked awake in the dim light of the suite, his head pounding and throat constricted with emotion. He laid there for a time, trying to make head or tails of the dream, before he realized that Maggie was not in the bed. Ran his hand over the warm spot on the sheet and sat up quickly.

Confusion and fear. That, and the anger, was all he had to rely on. Got dressed and left the bedroom, sweeping the other rooms quickly. Maggie was gone from the suite. He hadn't expected she would leave without him, but it didn't surprise him.

Knew where she would have gone. The dream had been right, she was getting herself killed. And it was all his fault―but maybe dream Maggie was right and he would be able to stop it, there was still time to help.

Boone left the Lucky 38, shouldering his rifle, and stared across the way at the Gomorrah. Why had she gone, when she'd asked him to kill that bastard for her? What had made her want to face him, when she'd been convinced she couldn't kill him herself?

...In the dream, she'd said she was paying attention. He'd thought she was awake when he spoke to her, but she hadn't reacted. Her heartbeat under his fingertips was hard and fast, her little shaky breaths told him she was awake. She hadn't said anything then, he'd thought she was too tired or just... accepted what he he'd said.

Maybe he'd scared her. Maybe he'd made her feel so frightened of him that she had to run off and prove to herself that she was capable of handling her own messes. That made him feel like shit. She hadn't accepted him telling her he wasn't going to let her go, telling her he wouldn't let her out of his sight again.

Shouldn't have said that, though. Wasn't right of him. He'd acted like he couldn't let her go, at all, couldn't stop thinking about her. Obsessing over her.

...Maybe he was. Maybe he was pushing too hard to want Maggie as a substitute for Carla when he should be remembering that she wasn't Carla, somewhere in his mind.

Boone sighed and rubbed his eyes. He shouldn't have said those things, but―she was all he had left of Carla, the only reminder left beyond his memories. He owed her. She'd taken him down from the crucifix, gone out of her way to save him. He couldn't let that go, he didn't know how to thank her. Maggie had willingly tried to help him every step of the way.

Nothing much he could do about his mental health. Obsessing. As rotten as he'd been, only able to see Carla in her face, and she still tried to help him. All he'd done was lose himself in his emotions and make a damn fool of himself. He owed her more than he could imagine.

His hand gripped the strap of the rifle as he strode across the street to Gomorrah. Had to do better. Maggie was not Carla. Maggie was better in some ways. She was honest. She didn't play games, not like Carla had. She was loyal to people she cared about, too loyal.

Like this Nero man. She couldn't kill him but she'd tried anyway because― because Boone had infected her with his crazy. She'd gone along with him, even when it hurt her to do so. She'd acted good, a good woman, devoted to her sister's memory and him by extension.

He'd never been that selfless in his entire life. Never been all that honest, either.

Carla hadn't been very honest. She'd used him to get off of the Strip, took him for a lark, and that stung. Even if she had come to love him through the course of their relationship, she started it with a lie. He would never say a bad word against her, but he was starting to feel like the ideal was ruined.

Still loved her. But more and more he was starting to realize he was in love with that ideal, the what could have happened, the would never be. The what had been, had been perfect in his mind. It was the past now, out of his grasp. He would never let go of her, not carrying around her death. But it was not the present. He hadn't let what he'd done destroy him, not yet. Not when he'd felt there must be revenge―revenge that Maggie had wanted to help him with because her blood was his blood―but now he wanted to move on. The revenge wasn't worth it, anymore. Not if he was scaring Maggie.

To move on and... and start anew. He wouldn't forget. Couldn't. Needed to think straighter.

Maggie wanted to help him move on, too. Wanted to help him get better, but like him she had no idea how to do it. She'd let him take advantage of her for that reason and he was ashamed of his actions. She deserved better.

...Carla hadn't made him feel like that. Carla wasn't scared of anything. Didn't need his protection. She hadn't been tempered by the desert but by the hot lights of the New Vegas Strip, cunning and guile. She was beautiful and she'd wanted him and she'd gotten him.

Maggie was rough and angry, but still beautiful―and frail. She needed someone to hold her up. He felt like she'd attached herself to him because she couldn't do what needed done by herself. Because she needed him to do what she wanted.

Did she want him? He didn't hope. He'd been too awful to her. Doing what he wanted to do with Carla, to her. If she didn't want him around, he wouldn't blame her.

Carla did what she wanted. Always had, even when he asked her not to. Carla was the boss. He'd never cared about that until she was gone. Until she couldn't be willful and fight against his warnings.

Maggie'd told him that she wasn't the boss.

So... who was?

Boone opened the door to Gomorrah with a jerk and stepped inside.

* * *

Smoke and fire and half-naked women. Boone stared at the inside of the casino, barely hearing the doorman ordering him to give up his weapons. Nothing much he could do about that, surrendered his rifle and machete. _Gonna need fists, from here on out._

Looked around. No sign of Maggie on the floor. No sign of her ever being there. Maybe he was stupid to think she'd come here―

On the railing above the casino floor, a man was leaning and looking out over the tables with an angry look on his face. Boone stared up at him for a while, watching him smoking a cigarette. Dark-haired, older, wearing a suit. Boone narrowed his eyes at the man's hands, seeing them shaking and bloody. Noticed his black eye. Eventually the man's dark eyes swept over his, but by that time Boone was already moving toward the back of the casino.

He'd been inside the Gomorrah exactly once. First Recon took leave on the Strip, thought it would be funny to see how the quiet one would react. More importantly, it meant he'd seen the inside of the place, and he knew there was a back room. If Maggie was anywhere in here, she'd be in the back.

Probably bloodied by that one up there, if his suspicions were correct.

He spotted the guard right away. You could always tell who was on guard; took a special kind of person to stand at attention for hours without moving. Usually they weren't very bright, either.

"Have an appointment with Nero," he told the man. A bad bluff. Didn't care, he'd probably start punching any moment now.

"Go on," the guard said, to his surprise. "He's expecting you."

Never mind. No thoughts.

Boone loped up the stairs and out onto the top floor, looking out over the place. Couple of pool tables, the railing, two doors opposite him. One was open, one was closed. The man at the railing was turned around to see him walking through, looking as angry as anyone ever could.

And Maggie was sitting on one of the couches nearby, her throat bruised and hands shaking. Boone immediately went to her, crouching down to face her, his hands on her shoulders.

"Maggie," he said, quietly.

She brushed him off, tiredly, and looked up at him with eyes full of redness. His swept down her front and across the bruises, handprints on her neck. "Tell me who," he said.

"Doesn't matter now," she rasped. _"Can't."_

"What?" He put a hand to her cheek and stared her straight in the eyes. "Can't what."

 _"Sal,"_ she said, shrugging a hand at the dark-haired man. "Sal did it."

"Maggie," Boone said, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her in for a hug. "What did Sal do?"

She gasped out a little chuckle, rubbing her neck with a trembling hand. Her eyes flicked to the dark-haired man, something like a smile moving across her lips, and leaned onto Boone's shoulder with a breathy sigh.

"Sal killed Nero."


	21. By Man, His Blood

Note: Aw, hell, there's gonna be a few more chapters. Had hoped to wrap this up to deal with AIW but nooooo... Dammit Maggie.

Thank you for the review Nicole, I hated to publish that but I had to try it out. Hope this fills in better as a sub

* * *

Maggie's hands wouldn't stop shaking. She leaned onto Boone's shoulder for a long time, almost too long, trying to make sense of what had happened. Was still a little out of it―everything hurt.

Boone laid his hands onto her hair and stroked it, gently, whispering in her ear. She couldn't hear the words. Heard the tone. She'd been scared of Boone's _crazy_ and now here he was, being completely _normal,_ trying to make her feel better. It didn't make sense. But that was okay, he'd never made sense to her. Maggie sighed, rubbing her forehead on his leather. Didn't need the complication he brought, though.

Didn't want to have to explain to Sal about _Carla,_ either. But he was waiting. Watching her with a pissed-off look, waiting for her to get her shit together and explain herself. Waiting for her to tell him in better details why he'd had to kill Nero.

She couldn't really explain it. Not in truth.

And hell... she damn near _died_ again. Maggie stared at Boone's feet, blankly. _Thinking._ About death, about being alive. About how she just couldn't get herself _killed,_ no matter how hard she'd tried, or how hard others had. It was ridiculous, made her feel... shit, it made her _mad._ Mad that she _couldn't_ die.

If that wasn't the stupidest thing Maggie could ever think, she didn't even know _what_ was.

When Nero started to choke her, she remembered him talking, but couldn't really remember what he'd said. He'd... he'd distracted her with an old trick of his, something he'd done whenever he wanted her to stop thinking. That was something he'd been especially _good_ at, deflecting her thoughts. Along with brainwashing her into thinking he was perfect for h―she sighed and closed her eyes. Didn't want to think about _that,_ anymore. _He was dead._

Everyone she'd _ever_ loved was dead, now. Even that cocksucker Benny, though she hadn't really loved him beyond physically.

 _Boone..._ was looking to die on _his_ own and still hadn't managed it, _either―_

She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. Nero was choking her on the floor, and everything went black, she remembered that. When she'd regained her vision, she was lying spread eagle on the floor and Sal was punching at Nero. They were both yelling at each other―she couldn't really remember the words―but she got the idea that Sal thought she was Carla.

It was absolutely _hilarious_ in a horrible way. Carla had saved her life, in death. Sal thought Maggie was Carla, and seeing Nero assault her put him over the edge. _No one was supposed to touch Carla._

Because Carla was the golden one, the one Sal had taught all his tricks, the one who was supposed to make him _proud._ The one he'd planned to marry into the Chairmen, planned with Nero to take over the casinos. The one he expected to carry on his bloodline since he hadn't had a son.

Not that he hadn't tried. Maggie hated him for what he was, in the present and in the past. For how he'd been a _monster,_ for how he'd treated their mother. Only now... _now_ she realized him being a monster was his way of making _them_ tough, so she and Carla wouldn't get abused. So shit like _this_ ―with Nero―wouldn't happen. So shit like Carla _running off_ wouldn't happen.

That had happened because they'd left the Strip. Dad couldn't protect them if they weren't within his reach. Maggie was leftovers, she'd thought. The second daughter, another useless _girl,_ unwanted by Sal. But... she _wasn't._ Sal had defended her against Nero because he was protecting his blood, just like Maggie―only he was much more successful because he was older and craftier. More tough. More batshit _insane._

Sal had always been weird like that. Doing things Maggie didn't understand, like his refusal to let anyone hurt Carla. _Loyal_ to her. Like Maggie. She chuckled and sniffled a little, trying not to cry. Stupidly _loyal_ to blood, just like Maggie. _Guess I got a lot more from dear old dad than I thought,_ she told herself. _More than just learning the right way to throw a punch, even._

...She'd lain there on the office floor, coughing and spitting, for a minute or two before she croaked out to him and told him Carla was dead. That she was Maggie, that Nero killed Carla six months before. He hadn't believed her until she started swearing, her broken voice rising to the highest level she could manage.

That was when Sal shot him. She found it hard to believe, still.

Maggie opened her eyes and rubbed her throat again, blinking rapidly. The warmth of Boone's body against her face felt comforting. She turned her head to look at him and saw his expression, distressed and confused.

"Boone," she asked, her voice still hoarse. "Do you have a stimpak."

Boone's hands were fumbling with a pocket, dropping needles and shoving a handful of meds at her. "What happens now?" he asked, watching her trying to pick up a stimpak.

Maggie swallowed and whimpered, then worked her fingers through the stimpak grip, and moved to inject it into her shoulder. Boone steadied her hand, rough fingers on her own. Maggie reached up with her other hand, laid it onto his, and held on as tightly as she could.

"I think," she said, rasping, "that you need to go back to the Lucky 38."

"What?" Boone's hand on hers tightened and his voice wavered. _"Maggie―"_

"Don't get all weird," she said. She let him go. "I'll explain later."

Boone stared at her for a moment with a confused and slightly betrayed look, and Maggie scoffed at him. Her throat felt a hell of a lot better, now. She stood, leaning down to brush her lips against his ear. _"Trust_ me," she whispered. "This is family business, but you're just an in-law. Go home and I'll meet you there."

She waited with his mouth near his ear, breathing evenly. Waiting for a sign. "Look, Sal is my father," she added, very quietly. "And I've got my straight-edge." Her voice took on that cocksure attitude that she'd had before, when they first met. "He _won't_ fuck with me. _Promise."_

Boone stared into the air, then turned his head quickly, catching her in a swift kiss. Maggie ran her hand along his neck, then pushed him away. She smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and slowly wobbled over to Sal. Boone strode out of Club Zoara, moving quickly, glancing over his shoulder.

She didn't return the look. _Hope he's not gonna get all crazy on me again,_ she thought. _Last thing I need right now―on top of trying to convince this ass that it was okay to kill Nero._

Sal had turned to look back out over the the casino floor. Maggie leaned onto the rail and sighed, pushing a blonde hair out of her face. They stood there for a long while before she opened her mouth to talk.

"I―" she grumbled. "I killed Benny, you know."

Sal just grunted and took another drag on his cigarette.

"Well, he shot me in the fucking _head,_ so..." she grumbled. _"And_ he was plotting to try to take over Vegas."

"So was Nero," Sal said, flicking his cigarette down into one of the braziers with a well-practiced move.

"It _started_ with Nero," she said, leaning her chin down onto her hands. "Nero found out where Carla was. Told me about it, told me he was gonna get her and bring her home. That she would learn a lesson." Maggie closed her eyes. "And _I_ thought that was a good thing, because she left me to get married to that asshole―"

"You two _never_ learned no fucking lessons," Sal said, angrily. " 'Bout as _dumb_ as your fucking _mother―"_

"Just _shut the fuck up and listen,_ Sal!" Maggie said, standing abruptly and glaring at him. Sal stared back at her, then set his mouth in a grim line and slowly nodded. "Nero let me marry Benny because he wanted Vegas, because we were planning to take him out. That's _all."_

 _None of―anything I've ever been to him―none of that mattered._ Maggie felt the sting. Sal was aware of her relationship with Nero―always had been, never said a word about it to her. Maggie had always suspected Sal was Nero's right hand man _because_ she'd been giving it to Nero on the sly, but really, it didn't fucking matter. Sal didn't have any say in who she loved.

Not that it was ever really _love,_ not when Nero was using her like he had. Finally, she felt some real anger. Ten fucking _years,_ she gave him, and he couldn't even trust her. Let her go to Benny and wrote her off like an aging whore. _Betrayed._ And she had to let her _daddy_ deal with it because _she_ couldn't _let go._

She clenched her fists and stared at Sal. Cleared her head. "Benny found a way to take over. But―he _musta_ known Nero was out for his blood. Wasn't nearly as stupid as I thought― _fuck,_ wouldn't surprise me if he was as smart as _that!"_ She threw a hand up at Nero's office door. "...And Benny, he _never_ liked me, he didn't even fucking _care_ about me." Maggie breathed in and out, slowly. "So he sets me up to take a bullet, and he made _sure_ I died. Only I _didn't,_ see?"

"Fucking tough," Sal said, coughing a little. He tapped his hat and shot a glance down at the casino floor, watching Boone leaving.

"Guess it runs in the fucking _family,"_ she grumbled, and Sal chuckled a little. "So he _shoots me_ and I'm stuck out in a puddle of piss called Goodsprings. And I thought, why the hell _shouldn't_ I look up Carla, since she got me stuck in this _shit?"_

Sal shook his head a little. _This was the part he really wouldn't want to listen to,_ Maggie thought. She sighed and loosened her fists. "But Carla was _dead._ Legion raiding party came into town, took her right out of her home. And that dumb jerk―" she flung a hand out at Boone, who was at the doors. _"That one,_ he tracked her down and found out that someone had sold her to the _motherfucking Legion."_

"The soldier boy," Sal said, so quietly she could barely hear him.

"Yeah." Maggie flipped another hair out of her face. _"The soldier boy._ He did what they taught him in in the army. He _put her down,_ so she wouldn't have to live through _that shit,_ because he was one man against an army."

Sal looked away and Maggie stared at the back of his bald head, feeling her rage against the Legion return. "Someone in Novac sold her for one thousand caps. And a little note at the bottom, you might like _this_ one―" Maggie lifted her Pip-Boy and read off the bill of sale.

Sal's hands on the railing gripped tightly, knuckles going white even in the dim interior of the casino. _"I_ teamed up with the soldier boy to try to get some _revenge. For the Family._ And I _did,_ but I learned one important thing, Sal." She breathed out, shakily. "I _learned_ that the Family had sent a man down to talk this _bitch_ into selling Carla, and _that_ means―"

 _"Fucking Nero,"_ Sal said, spitting the words.

 _"Exactly._ And I got revenge for me on my way back. Not-At-Home sends me on this crucial mission with that _thing_ I was supposed to deliver. Sent me down to Cottonwood Cove and I get taken up to see that big bitch Caesar, and his man tells me that _Nero has a plan to work with the Legion."_ She crossed her arms. "A plan Nero never told _me_ about because he made them get _Carla,_ to prove they meant business."

Sal cursed, pushed himself off of the railing and stomped over the floor. He jerked open the door to Nero's office and Maggie waited patiently, listening to the gunshots. Well, she sure as hell got her _temper_ from him.

"I never knew _nothing_ about no _fucking plan_ to get rid of your _sister,"_ he said, when he emerged, holding his gun. "Knew about the Legion plan. But I didn't do Carla."

"What _is_ that plan, Sal?" Maggie asked, staring him down.

He ran a hand over his chin. "Kill everyone on the Strip, take over. Caesar said Omertas could run the show, but we had to help make the NCR weak." He wiped his eyes and looked away from her.

"You ain't gonna _do_ it." Maggie rolled her eyes. "You think they'll just let you sit pretty in a _throne?_ No, that _fucker_ is gonna take all these girls and make them _slaves,_ and _you all―"_ she moved closer to him, poking him in the shoulder, _"―you assholes_ would be made into recruits, to bolster his fucking _army._ I saw that, up at his _fucking Fort."_

 _"Fuck,_ Mag," he said, hissing. "Nero was the one behind it, I didn't never _like_ it."

"What the fuck _ever,_ I don't _care._ Whatever shit you got planned is gonna be _unplanned,_ starting _now."_ She stared at the open door, the body lying inside, then turned away. "I ain't Family. Not _no more._ This is _your_ business, and you shouldn't be doing no business with the _goddamn Legion."_

Sal looked up at her, sharply. "Not no more," he repeated, slowly.

Maggie shrugged and rubbed her neck. "Ain't coming home, Sal. I left a _long_ time ago. And I've got to finish some shit for Not-At-Home, anyway."

He stared at her for a minute, then grumbled and pushed his hat backward on his head. "I'll get Troike to burn the shit," he said, under his breath. "But not a _fucking word_ of this, not to anyone, _Mag._ They ask, I'll say that fucking Courier Six did it."

"Good," Maggie said, and threw him a small smile. "Goodbye, _dad."_

He watched her leaving, without a word. She didn't look back. _Couldn't_ look back.

As long as he was true to his word―and as much of a bastard as he _was,_ she knew he'd keep true to his blood―as long as she left him be, he wouldn't _fuck things up_ on the Strip.

So that left her with House, and this fucking chip. She felt it through her pocket as she opened the door, and sighed.

House... and _Boone,_ to deal with. And she wasn't sure what she was gonna do, _now._

 _Guess I just keep playing the game._


	22. I'm Sorry

Note: Your reviews put a fire under my ass to get this chapter written. Keep it up! (Also, aware of the weird things about Sal. Ehhh... well, we all have to have something we're proud of.) At this point in GATG I am not even sure where the end is; his is my second longest fanfic and I don't see the ending coming soon.

There might be a few days between chapters. I am working on a personal project for Halloween, maybe it'll be done sometime this weekend. Maggie is so complicated, sometimes I have to take a break.

* * *

Maggie felt drained, as she walked into the Lucky 38. Like all the excitement of being throttled and having to explain shit to Sal had run down her battery, and she expected the exhaustion to catch up to her any moment now. She leaned against the elevator wall, pressing her forehead against the cool metal, waiting for it to reach the penthouse.

Talked to House first. Wasn't delaying that she had to talk to Boone, but his crazy shit was far less important than the crazy shit with House. Boone wasn't gonna _kill her_ if she dealt with the business, first.

Might get angry with her for not telling him she'd left, or for nearly getting herself killed. Wasn't much she could do about _that._ He shouldn't have―shouldn't have made her _scared_ like that. Shit, she didn't _want_ to talk to him. The jerk acting like he had, acting so _weird..._ Maggie grumbled and left the elevator. Didn't _like_ being scared of him.

"Mr. House," she said, holding up the chip and staring at him. "I did what you said. What happens now?"

"Excellent." The monitor flickered slightly. "Outside New Vegas, at what was once called Nellis Air Force Base, resides an unusual tribe known as the Boomers. They are, shall we say, aggressively reclusive? They have several howitzers they fire at anyone who dares approach the base."

Maggie made a noise, then laughed. "You're shitting me," she muttered. Just her fucking _luck―_

"I am not. Artillery of this sort has a range of several miles. If it's going to fire on Hoover Dam, I want it firing at my targets."

Maggie nodded and sighed. "Yeah, _okay."_

"If not, then I want to make sure that the Boomers don't sign similar treaties to fire their guns in support of the NCR or Caesar's Legion."

She stared up at the monitor for a moment. It _was_ a good thing to get someone on the side of New Vegas, to stop those _fucking assholes_ across the river. But, _hell._ Why was he getting involved in politics, still, when he had just enough security to push out everyone else?

Maggie didn't know the _half_ of what House was doing. Why he was making her run his errands. She was sure he'd explained it at one point or another but, shit, she never paid attention. Felt like she ought to get a little reassurance.

"Mr. House?" she asked, quietly. "This is all for New Vegas, right? To make it... _better?"_ He'd implied as much in the conversation under the Legion-occupied Fort, but she hadn't listened.

 _"Mankind,_ Magdalene. The temporary safety created for New Vegas will maturate into a much brighter future for us all." The unmoving face on the monitor stared down at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Well..." she breathed out and rubbed her neck. Had to report about the potential attack on the Strip. It was his business, anyway. She tried to think of a way to bring up the shit with the Omertas without making herself sound dumb. "Just, I ran into a _problem_ at the Gomorrah."

"If the Omertas pose a threat to the physical or economic security of the Vegas Strip, I want you to do whatever it takes to neutralize that threat." He sounded firm on the issue, but quickly went back to his hoity-toity way of speaking. "Regardless of any... _loyalty,_ that you might profess. I do not want to have to question your usefulness, Magdalene."

She rolled her eyes at him. _That_ was normal, then. Maggie was't useful at all, hah. He was pretty _dumb_ for all his fancy talk, to trust her with this shit. Even _if_ she'd managed to get into the Cove and take care of that other shit―but then, she hadn't really _had_ a choice, stupid fucking Legionaries.

"Nero is dead," she said, without emotion. "The Omertas are no longer a threat to the safety of the Strip."

"You mean that, at some point, they _were_ a threat?" His voice irritated her, so full of himself. Made her want to kick something. "And just how do you know of this?"

"The Omertas were going to massacre everyone on the Strip." Maggie clenched her fist around the chip, trying not to show her anger at the stupidity. Avoiding his question. "They had a plan with the Legion. ...I dealt with it."

"In that case, I commend you for your initiative." House paused for a moment. "Just how did you come to find this out?"

Maggie shrugged. "I dealt with the problem," she repeated, stubbornly.

"Deal with the Boomers, Magdalene. I am waiting." The monitor went dark.

 _Shit._ He had her number, knew she still felt some kinship to Omertas. Would probably try to shut her down if she so much as looked at him cross-ways. Couldn't let him think she was allied with them, even if she wasn't, or let him think she was at all inclined to plot against him like they had.

 _Stupid fucking Nero. Stupid fucking House._ There was nothing she could do but keep going, do this stupid job for him. Get her ass blown up by the Boomers, and hope if she didn't die it at least wouldn't hurt as much as getting shot in the fucking head or strangled half to death.

Maggie growled at the blank monitor and made her way up to talk to Boone.

* * *

He was leaning against the wall opposite the elevator, waiting for her. Maggie stopped herself before leaving the car, wondering if she ought to just strip naked and wait for the hit. The way he'd been acting―and _everything_ that had gone on―

He didn't... he didn't get _his_ the last time they'd horsed around. She flushed and fiddled with the strap of the dress. Might want a repeat of that, to make it fair.

But the hit didn't come. He didn't make any move toward her. She stepped out, cautiously. Boone was staring at her, arms crossed and face drawn. For a moment they stared at each other, and Maggie didn't know _what_ to do.

Eventually she walked past him into the master bedroom and sat down on the bed. He moved into the room and leaned against another wall. They stared at each other for another while, before he started talking.

"I'm _sorry,_ Maggie," he said, quietly, and looked down. "For everything."

She shot him a confused glance. She would _never_ understand him. Made _him_ hard to handle, made _her_ angry. Fuck, she was _surprised_ he'd even _listened_ when she told him to leave―it wasn't fucking _fair!_ She needed him to be reliable, for _fuck's sake!_

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. "Fucking hell, Boone," she muttered. "Just once, could you be _predictable?"_

He was quiet. "...You should have let me deal with him," he said, after a moment of silence. "You asked me to kill him. Why didn't you tell me you were going?"

She snorted. Yeah, she _had_ asked, in the past, but―she was too weirded out by him saying―Maggie groaned and closed her eyes. "I asked _you_ because I thought you'd be sane enough to handle it," she said. "But you―you _aren't._ And―" She made a frustrated noise. "I'm _not_ Carla, Boone! You _can't―"_

"I know," he said.

"You _can't_ act like― _like_ _I'm―"_ She opened her eyes and stared at him, silently pleading with him. _Just stop, Boone, just fucking stop it._

"I _know_ you aren't Carla," he said, clenching his fists and lowering his arms. He was agitated, now. He turned his head back to her, a tiny frown on his face. "I'm _sorry,_ Maggie."

"I don't know what the hell is going _on_ with you," she grumbled. "Can't figure you out. One minute you're all _touchy,_ the next you're cold as ice. Fucking burning me up and now―now you're acting all fucking _sorry?"_ She crossed her arms and blew out a breath, knocking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I tried to _help_ you. I don't think I _did."_

"It won't be a problem," he said, staring her down. "I promise."

She scoffed, looked away from the expression on his face. Made Maggie think thoughts that she didn't want to but wanted to, desperately. Dammit, how come he was so―fucking _magnetic?_ Kinda drew her in, made her want to be close.

Magnetic, like Maggie and trouble. Hah, she was a goddamn _bullet_ magnet. Fucking miracle either one of them had made it this far, even with her trying so hard to keep him alive after he was up on that goddamn cross.

She stared at his leather, blankly. That really _was_ something they had in common. Neither wanted the other to get buried, not if they could keep each other safe. He'd... he'd won her over after that mess on the road, when she bit him, and kept her from doing stupid things. Watched out for her. Even if he'd rampaged against the Legion because he was confusing her for Carla, it still made her... _happy._ To know he'd go so far in protecting someone.

She'd only _encouraged_ his stupid things. Maggie looked away, feeling guilty. And he'd damn near died, trying to kill the Legion, because of her. Because of Carla, and because of _her._

"Maggie," Boone said, interrupting her thoughts. "I mean it. I _promise."_

"I'll believe it when I see it," she snapped grumpily, glaring up at him. _Hell!_ It made her feel worse, getting angry at him when it was really her own damn fault. Her face flushed in embarrassment.

They stared at each other in the quiet room for a few minutes. Maggie's eyes trailed down the new scars on his face, scars he'd gotten from the Legion. Thought it was funny his nose sat like it always had even though it had been broken. That he'd been smashed up like a ceramic vase and it hadn't even made him look any different.

Mostly she was thinking about if they were gonna go out to Nellis, and if he went with, would he―she fought a shiver. Would he want more sex? ...Maggie did like him. Except for the crazy, she really _liked_ him. She _wanted_ him to help her. They'd watched each other's asses for the last few weeks and she knew she could trust him not to _shoot_ her in the fucking _head,_ but...

Her heart fluttered a little. And there was _that,_ but she still didn't want to think about―because the _last_ one had ended so fucking _badly_ ―and because she still didn't _like_ the idea of stepping into Carla's shoes. She already _looked_ like her. Didn't want to _be_ her.

Maggie swore internally. Needed to get her hair back to rights. Shit was in her face too much, anyway.

...And she didn't know if she could let him follow her around if he was gonna be trying to get into her pants, as often as he had. Was a bit much for her to keep up with. Maybe she wanted to _change_ how she was. It sure as hell had gotten her into a lot of trouble in the past―like with Nero. And this shit with Boone hadn't gone _smoothly,_ either. Maggie sighed.

"I have to go somewhere," she said. "For House. Probably gonna get blown up."

"Alright," Boone answered. No emotion. Cold as ice, again.

She bit the bullet and asked. "...Are you gonna come with?"

"If you want me to, Maggie."

Well, at least he understood she was _reluctant_ to be around him. She lowered her arms and stared at her hands, slightly bruised at the wrists from Nero holding her down. _Fuck,_ she didn't want to see _that._ She glanced away, grimacing.

"I'm talking like, for _real,_ getting blown up," Maggie said, wiping her nose of snot. "I have to go deal with some assholes called Boomers."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Up to you."

Maggie sighed in frustration. _"Fine._ You can come with. But―if you start any of _this―_ this _stupid shit_ that's been going on―"

"It won't be a problem," he said again, more firmly this time. "I keep promises."

She stared at him for a moment. "You ain't gonna push me up against any overpasses again, or _nothing?"_ she asked, in disbelief.

"Not unless you want me to," he said, his voice deadpan.

Maggie laughed. It was _ridiculous._ "What the _fuck_ happened to _you―"_ she started, then burst into hysterical laughter. _Seriously? What the fuck happened?!_

The laughter turned to crying, and she drew her legs up to her chest, burying her face into her knees. Let it all out, shuddering with each sob. _Shit,_ she'd probably cried _more_ in the last few weeks than she'd ever in her entire _life―_

Hah, that was a fucking _lie,_ but she wasn't _good_ with crying. Made her feel like a whiny little _baby._ Didn't _like_ crying. Nero would always comfort her just enough to buck herself up but never to the point where she didn't want to cry again. His attentions were a _lie,_ her life with Benny was a _lie,_ her relationship with Carla was a goddamn _hilarious lie―_ the only person she'd ever been completely honest with was―

Maggie wiped her nose and peeked out over her knees at Boone. "Can I have a hug?" she asked, wavering. It was stupid. Really. But she _wanted_ one.

Boone chuckled. "Not gonna hit me, right?" he asked. He was smiling at her, now.

"Fuck _you,_ you stupid jerk," she mumbled, burying her face in her knees again. She wanted to punch him for _sure,_ now. _Asshole._

He moved to her side, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Maggie, I really am," he said, amused. "It's hard to tell with you, sometimes."

"Shit, _you're_ one to talk," she muffled out, feeling his fingers on the skin of her shoulder.

"I know," he said, sighing. "Haven't... been the best. Did things I _shouldn't_ have."

She turned her head to the side. "Me too, though," she said, sucking up snot into her head. "We're _both_ crazy."

Boone smiled, moved his hand to the other shoulder, and turned her to face him. She looked up just as he wrapped both arms around her and hugged her, pulling her close and stroking her hair.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed it, shamefully enough. _Damn,_ he gave good hugs.


	23. A Test of Wills

Note: Lots of bad things happened recently, including the passage of our dog, and I've had some trouble introducing a new plot line. This chapter might not make sense in the short term but it should segue into a more understandable plot in the next chapter.

Minor edit. outdid myself in errors this week

* * *

"I lied, you know." Maggie stared up at the wispy clouds in the sky above Nellis, lying flat on her back on the broken asphalt. The sun was setting, and she'd been hurting, so she'd just laid down on the ground and took a goddamn _nap._ Looking back she oughta have begged a bed off of Pearl, but she didn't really care to whine her way into a barrack.

And Boone wouldn't have anywhere to sleep. Pearl didn't allow fraternizing, or something like that. 'Least, that was how it appeared, with the separate barracks and all. Maggie wasn't about to let him have to suffer if she was sleeping in a nice bed. It wasn't fair and they were being as fair as they _could_ be, trying to ride the line in their... whatever the _hell_ their relationship was, right now. Maggie didn't even fucking know.

Boone was sitting nearby, his legs curled under him. He looked over at her over his hands, crusted with mud and ant shit. He looked back at his hands and kept picking at the shit, without a word.

Maggie turned her head on the ground, looking at him. "When I said we were named after saints. I lied. I was, but Carla was named after mom. She hated her name."

Boone sighed, lowered his hands, and leaned his elbows forward onto his knees. "It makes sense," he said, after a moment. "I told her we should name the baby after her, but she didn't want to."

Maggie looked up at the sky again, the fading yellow being overtaken by stray wisps of blue, the clouds catching what light was left. "Carla didn't talk about mom much," she said, her arms flat against the asphalt. "Mostly we tried not to think about her. Was a bad situation for mom. Kidnapped by the Slither Kin, shit like that. "

Boone's elbows slid off his knees and he crossed his legs, looking up at the sky with her. Maggie shook her head at her thoughts. "I think Sal actually loved her, in a way. For the monster he is, he sure loved _us."_

"Enough to save your ass," Boone muttered, swallowing. Maggie watched his Adam's apple bobbing as he looked up at the sky. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and adjusted her newly-dyed bangs so that they were out of her eyes. Back to normal except for the whole lot she'd cut off, and a new trim, she didn't look half bad, she thought.

"...Yeah," she agreed, and looked away. The wind swept over them, making her chilly. A few quiet minutes passed between them, and Maggie sat up abruptly. "How do you cook ant meat?" she asked.

Boone chuckled, looking at her over the new sunglasses she'd bought for him. "Put it over a fire until it's done, I guess," he said. "That's how you cook pretty much everything."

"Fuck if _I_ know, I ain't good at cooking," she said. She crossed her legs and stared across the huge base, at the gates. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," he said.

"Are you sleepy?"

"No." Boone stood up, slowly, patting his hands. "What else were you supposed to do, here?" he asked, looking over at the arrays.

"I don't remember and I don't care, and I want to go get as sloppy drunk as possible and sing at the top of my lungs until I go hoarse and pass out in a pile of pillows." She stared up at the sky, sighing. "I'm so fucking _tired_ of all this shit."

He stared out at the buildings for a minute, then shrugged. "It's something."

She gaped at him. "You honestly don't think that's a _good_ idea!"

"Whatever you want to do, Maggie," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at her. "You're stressed out. It might _help."_

She scoffed and pushed herself up, limping a little as she made her way toward the gates. "I'm sure as shit not doing that here," she muttered. "Might get myself some new scars."

"Still didn't tell me how Carla gave you that one on your ass," Boone put in.

Maggie grumbled under her breath. "Maybe I'll tell you later. If I can get drunk enough." She stopped for a moment. "Speaking of scars..."

Boone looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Maggie coughed and covered the snicker she was building up to and shook her head. "Nevermind!" she said, flushing at her own thoughts.

"It was a dog bite, Maggie," he said.

Shit, how'd he _know?_ Maggie had seen a circular scar on his leg and wondered for the longest time if some person―Carla, maybe, she knew her sister could bite like no one _else_ in the _world―_

"Okay, I didn't really want to know," she muttered. She stomped off with a red face toward the gates of Nellis.

He chuckled and kept up with her, easily.

* * *

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait―" Maggie paused and forgot what she was saying. _"Wait._ Shit, I had _something―"_

Boone laughed, putting his feet up on the table in front of them. Maggie stared out at the Atomic Wrangler, seeing the world spinning just enough. Boone was spinning a little, too, but shit, _he'd_ had... she put up a hand and tried to count. How many beers?

"Holy fuck, how did I get so many _fingers,"_ she mumbled.

"You are _shitfaced,"_ Boone said, laughing harder. "I like you this way, Maggie, you're funny."

"Fuck _you,_ jerk, I'm not―" She pitched forward and shoved his boots off the table. "Hey, you're gonna get us _kicked out!"_

Boone snorted, put his legs back up on the table and pointed at her while holding his beer. "No, I won't, _you're_ the one being loud."

"You're _both_ being loud!" Francine yelled over, wiping out a glass and shooting Maggie a nasty look. "Shut the fuck up or _you're out of here!"_

"Shhh, _fuck,_ Craig, _fuckkkk,"_ Maggie said, putting down her beer and shoving his feet off the table. She leaned over just a little too much and fell forward, Boone catching her and drunkenly moving her upward. He chuckled at her, his hands under her armpits, and she suddenly was all elbows and knees, trying to get herself off of him.

She knew better. Even drunk, Maggie knew better. The minute she put herself in a compromising position―she scrambled to sit back in her chair and Boone stared across the room, smiling in a funny way.

"Shut that shit up," she muttered, and drained her beer.

"I think we're at our limit, _Magdalene,"_ Boone said, deliberately, setting down his beer. "Probably should go home." He burped a little, covering his mouth and making a face.

She glared at him like she had never glared at anyone, in ages, and he chuckled. "You think you're _real_ funny," she said. "I _hate_ that name! I don't want you to say it never, _ever again. So help me God you will know what your own liver tastes like!"_ She picked up her beer and made a jabbing motion at him, dropping the bottle to the floor with a fumble.

"Christ, Maggie," Boone said, moving his bottle away from her. "You'd just make me _more drunk!"_ He burst into laughter, at the stupid joke.

She paused, then flushed. "Dammit," she said, looking up at the ceiling.

"No, but, _seriously,_ we should leave." Boone tossed back his beer and tried to stand up. "Because I think there are some people here who want to have a long talk with us." He grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. "And, I doubt you wanna get blood all over the bar and make the lady _mad."_

Maggie blinked, then looked up and saw some assholes in suits standing near the doorway, staring at her. _"Shhhhhit,"_ she said, patting her side for her shotgun. She hadn't lost it yet, thank God.

Boone moved away from the table, looking for all the world like he was going to fall over, and Maggie stood, wobbling and teetering. She saluted Francine and almost lost her balance, bouncing out the door in a funny little dance.

Boone caught her at the other side, spinning her into an embrace. He rubbed her back along the spine, breathing hard, then moved his head to whisper in her ear. "Just how drunk _are_ you?" he asked.

Shit, the jerk was sober? Sounded better off than she was. Maggie wrapped her arms around his head, and bit him on the ear a little too hard, making him jerk away.

"Use your words next time," he muttered, wobbling and moving her over to the nearby ruined car. Maggie let herself be laid back onto the hood of the car and felt his lips moving along her jaw. He was breathing really heavy―she snorted, he wanted _that_ for sure, but she hadn't said he could, yet―

Well, he was keeping his _promise,_ at least. This ruse would be torture for them both, but it was better not to give into that sort of chicanery. _Call it a test of wills,_ Maggie thought, rubbing her knee on the outside of his thigh.

She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him on top of her, laughing. "This is fun," she said. "Pretending." Her shotgun was jammed into him, laid across her stomach between the two of them.

She'd figured out his plan the second he moved her backward and patted her side, even through her double-vision and dulled senses. An ambush for the suited men, who she thought were Chairmen but couldn't tell― _damn,_ she drank too much _beer―_

"It's painful," Boone muttered, and Maggie saw the men from the bar walking up behind him.

"I'll _bet,"_ she said, feeling his legs trembling from the effort of bending over her like he was. "I wouldn't do this shit in public, _anyway."_

"Courier Six!" one of the suited men yelled, coming up to them with a submachine gun and a grim look on his face. Maggie turned her head and looked up at him as Boone breathed on her neck, feeling a prickling sensation in her lower half. _Dammit, Maggie,_ she groaned to herself.

 _"What,_ man, I'm _busy,"_ she told the suited asshole.

"The Chairmen do not rest!" was the answer, followed up with a spray of bullets over the two of them. Boone grunted in pain, tightening his hands on her, and Maggie got mad.

She pulled the shotgun out from between them, aiming and firing at the nearest hitman. His head exploded and she laughed triumphantly, rolling off the car and up onto her feet.

Boone was already off of her and pulling his own rifle, while Maggie dropped the shotgun to the side and drew her machete. The men scattered, moving around and away, and Maggie chased one of them up the dead end by Silver Rush. Boone was grunting and firing away at the other two.

"You shot my man, you _jackass!"_ she shrieked, slicing out at the idiot as he backed himself into a corner. _What a moron!_

 _"Shit!_ Help!" the man yelled, and Maggie paused, staring at him.

"Jingo?" she said, lowering her arm. "When the hell did _you_ become a hitman?"

"Maggie?" was the response, as Jingo lowered his arms, thrown up in a "don't hit me" way.

"You are a really _shitty_ hitman," Maggie said, coughing up a wad of snot. She spat to the side and stared at him. "Alright, spill it, _what the_ _fuck_ is going on."

"I didn't know _you_ were Courier Six―" he said, straightening himself out and patting dust from his suit. He adjusted his hat on his head and looked down at her. "Man, Swank's gonna be _pissed."_

 _"Swank_ sent you? That cocksucking little shit!" Maggie growled and clenched her fist on the machete.

"Well, yeah, but we didn't know you was the courier chick, dig?" Jingo stood, nervously playing with his gun. "See, Swank heard the courier chick killed the Omerta boss, and then he put two and two together..."

"I did kill Benny," she said, admitting it freely. "And I ain't afraid to take my _lumps._ Come on, Jingo, spill it."

 _"Why'd_ you kill―"

"Jingo," she said, threateningly.

"Cool your jets! Swank's keen on the Luxe woman, see? And he thought she was gonna be next on the list, plus he wanted a little revenge for Benny. Coming in and killing him like that, no one knew what happened." Jingo sighed and set his mouth. _"Sneaky_ shit, Maggie."

"You weren't _supposed_ to," she answered. Stared at him for a minute, willing her vision to clear. "You go tell Swank that Majorie is safe, for now. I ain't got beef with the cannibals."

"They ain't _cannibals,_ no more―"

"I don't fucking _care,"_ Maggie snarled. "Go tell Swank the _next_ time he tries to kill me, I _will_ be paying him a visit."

Jingo nodded, and looked behind her. "Your man ain't gonna _shoot_ me, now is he?"

Maggie turned and glanced back at Boone, standing with his rifle trained on Jingo's head and watching them, cautiously. "I don't think so," she said, trying not to laugh at the nervousness of the young Chairman. "But you'd better _run."_

Jingo took off and Maggie moseyed back to Boone, finally bursting into laughter. "Oh, my _God,"_ she complained. "The stupid little _shit_ tried to kill me! The balls on _him!"_ She held her side and retrieved her shotgun.

"Chairmen?" Boone asked, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, some horseshit about Benny. It's fine... for _now."_ Eventually, she knew she'd have to deal with Swank and see what he had to say.

Booze was still running through her system, though. Along with an itch she _hated_ to have to scratch. She glanced up at Boone and down at his armor. "You got shot?" she asked.

"I need better padding," he said, patting his hip.

Maggie burst into laughter. "Oh, my God," she said, when she finally stopped. "They shot you in the _ass!"_

"It's not funny, Maggie," he grunted, rubbing his lower back. "It hurts."

"I'll _bet!"_ she giggled, and waved him on, heading back to the Strip. "C'mon, let's go dig a bullet out of your _butt."_

"It's not―" Boone sighed and grumbled, and put an arm around her shoulders, then laughed. "I'm _never_ getting drunk with _you,_ ever again. Too much work."

"Aww, but I didn't get to sing at the top of my lungs and pass out in a pile of pillows, yet," she said, playfully, pushing back against him.

Boone ruffled her hair and released her, and followed her up to the gate. Maggie stumbled through, still laughing.


	24. Always

Note: Plotline should be getting clearer somewhere along the way. Bit lost myself at the moment. The end of the chapter feels a bit rushed (damn my word quotas)

Regarding Boone's ass getting shot, it's a joke my husband makes so frequently I had to include it in my Boone stories (since husband is my character reference for Boone, and he talks about Easy Company a lot). Guaranteed to make _him_ laugh, so it's worth it

* * *

"Dammit, _stop that,"_ Boone said, grabbing Maggie's hand as it inched across his ass.

"What?" she said, mockingly innocent. "I'm just trying to figure out where the bullet is."

He glanced over at her and instantly regretted it―she had the pinkest cheeks, her face flushed with color, eyes bright from drinking. The lights of the Strip lit up those brown eyes, making them look almost blood-colored. She'd already undone her leather jacket and he knew for a fact she wasn't wearing anything under the thin t-shirt beneath.

"You're drunk," he said, giving her hand a shove back toward her. He didn't need any more _encouragement,_ not if she was serious about them quitting―Boone sighed and looked away.

"You don't _like_ it?" she teased, moving her hand back. Boone grumbled. She was not making this _easy_ for him.

"I _do,"_ he admitted, groaning internally. "But I promised, Maggie, I'm not going to go back on that."

"Maybe I _want_ you to," she said. Thin fingers worked their way through his belt loops, and all he could do was imagine her scratching up his back and making him sweat a little too much, hearing her moaning, the feel of her skin against his. Everything he threw at her she gave back, except for the last time―and the last time he'd scared her. Couldn't afford to push her, not like that.

Not if he wanted to be around her. And he _did._ Couldn't say much about it, other than he really just wanted to be around Maggie. All the time.

"I think you'll regret it in the morning," he said. _She drank a little too much, Craig, and now she's shitfaced and you can't―you can't chance it._ Why did he ever think letting her get drunk was going to end well?

Maggie wrapped her arms around his chest as he kept moving toward the Lucky 38, letting her feet drag behind her and making it difficult for him to move. Well, she was a lot less stressed out now. At least that part worked out. She laughed and slid down a little.

"This is stupid," he muttered. "C'mon, Maggie, at least wait till we're inside―"

She hiccuped, giggling at herself. "I can't!" she said, too loudly. "I'm _happy!"_

Boone stopped in mid-stride, grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him, then shoved her up onto his shoulder and started carrying her back to the Lucky 38. "If you're too drunk to walk properly," he said, "I'll have to _carry_ you in."

She was too damn skinny, her elbow was jabbing him in the neck. Long arms and thin legs, and her tiny perfect br―

 _Goddammit, Craig!_

"You're like a wild man," she said, "carrying me off." She started kicking and punching him, pretending to be scared. "Ahhh! Help! _Noooo!"_

"Knock it _off,_ Maggie―"

She grabbed his ear on the other side of his head, pulling at the lobe, making him jerk away and lose his grip on her. Maggie shrieked a little as she pitched forward, over his shoulder, putting her hands onto his lower back and jamming a thumb right into his wound.

Boone swore, the muscles spasming in his back, making him go down on his knees in order to keep his balance and not drop her. He moved her off his shoulder and onto the steps outside the Lucky 38, leaning onto his hands and grimacing in pain. "Maggie―"

"I'm sorry," she said, pouting. "Was just _playing."_

"It hurts, Maggie," he said, sitting up and rubbing the area through the leather. He looked down at her on the casino stairs, lying on her back where he'd lain her down.

 _Dammit._ No matter how much self-control he had, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about making love to her―she smiled up at him, drunkenly, and that made it worse. He knew how easily she'd give in if he tried. But he'd promised, and that was something he wasn't going to break.

Maggie reached up and grabbed his jacket and pulled him down, running her hands along his collar. "I know I'm drunk," she said, slurring a little, "but I'm also _very, very, veryveryvery―"_

"Shut up, Maggie," Boone said, getting up from the awkward position. "You're not thinking straight."

"You _think?"_ She giggled again. She was happy. Liked _her_ being happy. Made him happy. He liked being happy.

Goddammit, though, she was trying really hard to make him lose his focus―he glanced back at her and saw she was taking off her jacket. She was going to get them into trouble. He groaned to himself.

"Nope," he said, grabbing her around a shoulder and dragging her into the casino. "No, Maggie."

"You're hurting my feelings, Boone." She shrugged off the jacket and he caught a glimpse of the naked skin under her shirt as it was pulled up. He looked away. Torture. Every time he thought he'd figured it out, she found a new way to torture him.

At least this torture was more enjoyable. The last bit―losing his goddamn mind―he didn't want to go back to that, again. Not understanding who he was, who Maggie was... He rubbed his chin. It could have ended very badly, for him.

He could have shot her in the head and finished the job her damn ex-husband started.

"How in the hell did that Benny guy ever handle you," he muttered.

"Mostly just left me the fuck alone," she said, moving to the elevator. "Until I got bored or ran out of chips, and went looking for his ass." She shrugged and yawned. "Alright, so, uhhh..."

"What's the plan? Talk to House?" Boone followed her into the elevator. "You finished the job up at Nellis."

"Mmmm," she said. "I dunno, I ain't got nothing else to do but go get myself killed. Makes me antsy, waiting around to _die."_ She sounded annoyed.

Boone watched her as they rode up the elevator, feeling his heart beating a little too fast. Didn't like the idea of her getting killed, for sure. ...Really wasn't going to let her out of his sight, when they were on the job.

She would hate _that._ He sighed.

"Ugh, you're so grumpy," she teased.

Boone stared at her. "Maggie―"

"Maybe you need to drink more," she laughed. "Might get you in a better mood." She fingered her shirt and grinned, then did the most coquettish thing he'd ever seen her do, batting her eyelashes at him. "Or... we could do something _else."_

"Jesus Christ, Maggie," he groaned. "You're _killing_ me."

"What? I don't know how to _flirt!"_ she said, pouting and crossing her arms. "Never _had_ to! All I ever did was be there, and Benny would jump on me when he felt like it!"

It was ridiculous, hearing that. Maggie was so damn casual about the whole thing, he didn't even know what to think about her. Boone started laughing, covered his mouth and turned away, shaking with the laughter. Acting like she was so amazing on her own, she didn't even have to try―

God, she didn't have to, but it was so messed up between them. His laughter slowed, dying out as the elevator car moved up into the Lucky 38.

"Now you're really hurting my feelings, Boone," she said, drawing out the vowels in his name. "I don't think I like you, anymore." She made a "hmph" noise and turned her head.

He watched her with a small smile, across the car. "I didn't know you _did,"_ he teased, against his better thoughts.

She growled at him, then launched herself across the car and latched herself onto him, scratching at his neck. Boone turned around, pinning her up against the wall, and laid his mouth onto her neck, kissing her gently. She immediately went limp in his arms, like the first time he'd done that, moaning and writhing under his grip.

"I thought you didn't _want_ this," he said, adjusting his arms around her waist and holding her tightly.

"I― _mmm!"_ She pushed his head back and put her hands on his ears, holding him awkwardly. "I don't _know,"_ she breathed. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"See? I told you you'd regret it in the morning." He released her and the car came to a stop at the suite. "You're too drunk. Need to go to sleep."

"Shut the fuck _up,_ Craig," she said, pushing him out of the elevator and wrapping her arms around his back. She paused and breathed out, sighing. "Can we just start over," she mumbled.

"Don't think it works like that," he said, lifting an arm and looking at her.

"I'm tired of all this _weird shit_ between us," she said, moving around to his front. "All this―man, I don't even fucking _know._ ...I just wanna know if you're gonna watch my ass and I'll watch yours, both in and out of fighting." She headbutted him gently in the chest. "I do have a nice ass to watch, right?"

He chuckled. "Always, Maggie," he said, cupping her cheek.

"Not _'I'll never let you out of my sight'_ always, though... right?" she asked.

Her eyes searched his in the dark of the rooms, and he sighed. Placed both hands on her shoulders and bent down, pressing his forehead into hers. It hurt him to tell her what she wanted to hear, what he didn't want to do, but had promised to keep his word. "I'll be here when you want me, but if you tell me to sit tight, I will. I promise."

"Good," she whispered, putting her hand onto his and rubbing his knuckles through the gloves.

He stared into her eyes. Maggie stared back, her eyes suspicious on his. Like Carla, she was tempered by the hot lights of New Vegas, burning mistrust into her, but there was still hope in her eyes. That kind of hope burned twice as hot, but burnt out twice as fast.

Boone wanted that hope to stay. It was the only thing he had left, the only thing keeping him sane. His anger was gone; it was hard to be angry around Maggie when she stole it away from him. When she shut him down in her dream like that, he'd finally understood why it was he couldn't tell the difference between her and Carla.

He couldn't tell because he loved them both. Maggie for helping him, and Carla for being there. Maggie for wanting what he'd wanted, and Carla for giving him what he'd needed.

Boone, in love, was something pathetic and miserable, but he _wanted_ to be that way.

"Maggie," he said, moving a hand up and stroking her cheek. "I will always watch out for you. I _mean_ that."

Her eyes got brighter, filling with tears. She broke away from him and rubbed her eyes. "Okay, I'm tired," she announced. She yawned and moved away, shutting the door to her bedroom. "I'll see you in about six hours, Craig!"

 _Yeah._ He turned and hit the button to the elevator, waiting for the car to open. _Yeah, always._

* * *

He shut the door to the Tops a little roughly, as he came in. Looked around the entryway and shrugged off the security, moving away from the door and approaching the counter.

"Listen here, cat, you gotta give up them weapons," the dark-haired man behind the counter said. "If you don't, it's a one-way ticket to _pain."_

"Won't be here that long," he muttered, staring at the man. "Looking for Swank."

The counter man narrowed his eyes at him. "You delivering a message, or―"

"Aw, shit, that's the guy who wiped us out down in Freeside!" someone called, from the stairs. Boone glanced up at the man out of the corner of his eyes and saw the one that Maggie had been speaking to. The idiot of the group, he expected.

"The courier's bodyguard, eh?" The man at the counter looked him up and down. "You tell Maggie I called off the hit. Ain't got no reason to send you down here to hassle us."

"I'm still looking for Swank," Boone replied, darkly.

"You're looking _at_ him." He stared up at Boone.

He was angry. It was why he'd come to see this "stupid little shit" that Maggie spoke about, to tell him to leave her alone. To watch out for her, like he'd promised.

Boone's hand shot out and grabbed the man at the collar, pulling him across the counter, growling in his face. "You leave Maggie the fuck alone or you'll have more than _murder_ to worry about," he said, spitting the words at him.

"That _sounds_ like something Maggie would say, except she'd use more curses," Swank said, staring at him, a sly smile coming across his face. "But I expect she got under your skin like she did everyone else, didn't she. You came here by yourself, after all."

Boone curled his lip at the man. "No, she didn't send me," he said. "I don't want to see your men following her around, anymore. Next time it happens..." He tightened his hand on Swank's collar.

"I read ya, loud and clear," Swank said, putting his hands up and holding them out as if he were giving up. "Just sayin', though. You warning me, I gotta warn you. Maggie's a real fly gal, yeah, but she's _bound_ to blow your top."

Boone didn't say anything, just stared at him. Didn't know the half of what he was trying to imply.

"Listen, cat, I know you don't wanna hear nothing bad 'bout the gal," Swank said, relaxing his shoulders and lowering his hands. "But she's bad news, always has been. Ask her, she'll probably lie. Ask her how come she came back, after Benny sent her away."

Boone released him and shook his head. "I already know that," he said, keeping his eyes on the casino manager's face. She'd come back for revenge.

"You _do,_ huh?" Swank's eyes swept over his and he nodded. "Maybe you tell me, then, since all I heard from Benny was that he sent her down to the doctor in Goodsprings―the one used to live up here in this Vault―and she died on the table."

Sounded like bullshit. But she hadn't told him anything about what happened to her prior to coming to Novac, other than she'd been shot by her husband.

It ran in the family. He couldn't believe it, then. Still found it a little hard to believe.

"You leave her alone," he repeated, and turned to leave.

"I ain't kiddin', cat! You ask her, see what she says! Oh, and―" Swank chuckled. "You seen that cute little scar on her ass? I told ya, she's fly!"

Boone left the casino with little on his mind, opening and slamming the door, heading back to the Lucky 38 with more questions than he'd started with, and his attempt to protect Maggie from the assholes gone sour in his mind.

It came to mind that he didn't know anything about what she had been planning, and he'd trusted her because she was more than willing to mow down Legionaries with him. This Vegas shit was a little to complicated for him to follow. How Maggie had survived... well, she'd had protection, then. Her father, her lover, her husband.

And now him. The last woman he'd sworn to protect―

Boone sighed and rubbed his temples as he made his way back into the Lucky 38.


	25. The Silver Platter

Note: I don't even

Minor continuity edit

* * *

Maggie woke up with one arm across the edge of the bed, fingertips trailing along the floor, wearing nothing more than a t-shirt. She jerked awake and pushed herself up from the top of the bed cover, feeling a bit nauseous and more than a little hungry.

For a moment she sat on her heels on the bed, staring at the wall, rubbing her eyes and wondering just _how_ drunk she'd gotten. Didn't have any bruises, no red marks or _bites_ ―Maggie grumbled to herself. That only happened _once,_ and it had been her wedding night, so she was pretty sure she knew who did it. _Stupid fucking Benny._

Didn't have anything on but the shirt, though, no underwear to speak of. She hoped for a second or two that she'd tempted Boone too many times. Did have a vague memory of pinching someone's butt, probably _his._ Remembered―aw, fucking _hell,_ she was gonna have to go talk to Swank.

And... poor _Boone,_ getting shot in the butt because he was protecting her from the stupid Chairman. She grinned to herself. It was funny, but it wasn't funny that Swank had the balls to order out a _hit_ on her, _even if_ he didn't know who she was.

And totally _not_ funny that Boone was actually injured, especially from something so stupid and preventable. She didn't like that. Not one _bit._ Boone was all she had to keep her ass out of trouble―

She ran a hand along her own scar, feeling the jagged edge and remembering the pain. It was Carla's knife that made the scar. Maggie's fault for turning her up and making her fight her, but Carla was the one who actually stabbed her.

It hadn't really endeared Carla to Nero. She scoffed to herself. Like it mattered, _now._ Here was Maggie thinking no one loved her but _him,_ only to find out it was the opposite―everyone _but_ him.

God, she was fucking _stupid._

Maggie snorted, ran a hand though her hair and put her feet on the floor. Her stomach was starting to yell at her real loud, complaining it needed food. "You're outta _luck,_ you grumbly bastard," she said, poking herself. "Like _I_ know how to fucking cook."

Eventually she was too hungry to care and walked to the kitchen, peeking into rooms along the way and looking for Boone. Sleeping in the guest room. Maggie grabbed up some fruit and stood in the doorway, staring at him.

He looked like a little boy, when he was asleep. Face all slack and body less stiff than he was during the day. All that worry on his face, all that tenseness he put off, gone. She snickered at him drooling on the pillow, then retreated to her room and got dressed, thinking about the schedule.

Wasn't _much_ of one. She had to go tell House she was done with the Nellis crap. Wasn't sure where all this shit was gonna lead her. Was pretty sure she'd already be _dead_ at this point.

Maggie paused while pulling on her boots and stared at her hands on the leather, blankly. Shit, maybe she really _wouldn't_ die.

She sighed, rubbed her face, and brushed her hair back. _Might as well go report._

* * *

House told her that he wanted her to deal with the Brotherhood of Steel. Maggie vaguely remembered some men in metal armor clashing with the tribes in the desert, when she was a real little kid. But couldn't say much about them one way or another. She didn't make any promises to him. What he wanted done... sounded like it was too fucking smart for an uneducated party-girl. Like _Maggie._

"Listen, Mr. I'm-a-big-ass-computer―" she started. House's monitor made a disapproving noise. "No, man, I'm fucking _sick_ of it. You know I can't do all _that―_ destroying a bunker? _Seriously?_ Like I have the know-how to work a fucking computer?" She scoffed and put her hands on her hips, staring at him. "Not to mention I got enough fucking grudges of my _own_ to deal with, and you're asking me to take care of some petty bullshit between you and the goddamned Brotherhood?"

"I take it you are unhappy with the task," House said, without emotion.

 _"Unhappy_ is not a strong enough word," Maggie snarled. "Will not ever do, do not _want,_ get the fuck _out of my face_ , you _goddamn idiot,_ maybe."

"You do realize that if I had not had Victor following you, you would be buried in that cemetery still? Your debt to me is one of life, Magdalene." He paused a moment. "And you haven't proven yourself a worthwhile employee, exactly."

She stared up at his face for a moment. "...I get that," Maggie said. "But I'm not gonna go poke a stick at a bunch of people who got laser rifles and big fucking armor just because you don't _like_ them and they won't play your stupid _game._ It ain't my thing."

"That's regrettable," House said. "We really cannot move forward with the plan for New Vegas until they are dealt with."

Maggie scoffed, turned around, and left. _Stupid fucking Not-At-Home._

* * *

"Boooooooone," she said, poking him in the side. _"Boone!"_

He grumbled and covered his head, turning over. Muttered something about leaving him alone. Maggie raised her eyebrows and pursed her mouth, then grinned. _C'mon, Maggie, don't―nope,_ she told herself. _I have to. It's gonna be funny, trust me._

"Alright, man, I tried to do this easy," she said, and crawled on top of him, straddling his hip. "C'mon, Boone, get up. I ain't got all fucking day to hang around _this_ shit-hole."

"Leave me alone, Carla," he muttered. "Tired of it."

Maggie laughed. "Carla!" She pulled back a fist, scooted backward, and laid a sharp punch into his side. "Get up, you goddamn _jerk!"_

Boone grabbed her hand, blinking sleepily up at her sitting on his thigh. It was a long moment before he released her and turned onto his back, throwing her over the edge of the bed. Maggie yelled and caught herself, throwing her hands down to the floor, then swore up and down at him. Her leg was trapped under him―

"Serves you right," he muttered, pulling her upright and onto the bed. "Not very fair to wake me up like that. Punching people in their sleep." He wiped his face and groaned.

Maggie stared down at him, mildly amused. She moved herself to sit on top of his waist, and grinned. "Well," she said, "I figured this would make you feel _better."_ Her hands went to his chest, rubbing him lightly.

"You do realize if you keep _that_ up, we'll be right back where we started." Boone's eyes bore into hers, his face serious. "I mean it."

"Yeah, but, you know," Maggie sighed contentedly, and leaned her elbows onto his chest, putting her chin in her hands. "We're both _fucked,_ anyway."

"Get off of me," Boone said, grumbling. "Christ, Maggie."

She saw a tiny smile on his face. _Hah,_ she had to screw with him, now. He liked it, her being on top, and he owed her, anyway. _Jerk._ She moved from the bed to the doorway, then turned back to face him. "I tried to convince you last night," she said. "Now you went and forced my hand." She pulled the door shut. "This is all _your_ fault."

Boone rubbed his face again, then sat up. "Shit," he said. "You're _serious."_

" 'Course I am," she said, leaning on the door. "I tried, but nooooo, you weren't having it―"

"Because you were _drunk,_ and―" he groaned, standing up.

 _"Now."_ Maggie moved forward, and looked down at him with her eyes narrowed and face stern. "Strip out of your pants and let's see where that bullet went," she said, matter-of-fact.

Boone held his breath for a moment, then slumped down onto the edge of the bed and put his hands over his face, laughing. "Oh, _shit,_ Maggie―"

"What? You thought I was gonna make you have _sex_ with me?" She snorted. "In your dreams, you _jerk!_ C'mon, let me see your butt, get that shit taken care of."

Boone shook his head, shaking with laughter. "You're terrible, Maggie."

"Yeah, everyone keeps telling me I'm a horrible person," she said, evenly. "But you know, I always figured they were just _jealous."_ She patted Boone's shoulder and threw down a doctor's bag. "I am serious. Get them pants off or I'll have to do it the hard way, and I don't think you want to _know_ what the hard way is."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, still chuckling.

"I ain't no fucking _ma'am,"_ Maggie scoffed, watching him.

 _Body language._ She smiled, seeing him take off the armor, remembered she liked how he moved. Muscles in the legs. He swaggered, like a tough guy.

"Hard to look _tough_ when someone's pulling a bullet out of your ass, ain't it," she said, smirking.

"Shut up, Maggie," he said. "It isn't funny."

"Kind of _is,_ though," she laughed.

"Just you wait 'til I have to do this for you," he grumbled. Maggie only laughed at him again.

When she was finished, she left him to get dressed. Shut the door behind her and leaned against the wall and kicked herself in the back of the head because― _fuck,_ she _wanted_ to make him roll around with her in the bedsheets, _real bad._ She covered her eyes and bit her lip and pushed away the want, reminding herself that there was still work to do.

 _Shit,_ and she didn't even know _where_ to start with that Brotherhood crap. _If_ she could even do it.

"We're gonna go talk to the Chairmen," Maggie said, through the door. "Really don't _want_ to do the other shit."

"Whatever you say," Boone said, opening the door. He was smiling at her, gently. She looked away before her face flushed, and had Victor call up the elevator.

* * *

"Maggie, you gorgeous gal, how are ya." Swank smirked at her from the other side of the counter.

"Oh, you know," she said, flippantly. "Running around Vegas, being a bitch. Staying _alive."_ Her voice got harder. "No thanks to certain assholes with aspirations."

"Jingo said he explained that to you," Swank replied, sounding wounded. "Baby, you know I'd never hurt you."

"Swank, that is the exact same thing Benny used to say to me, and you know what?" She leaned over the edge of the counter. "I'll be damned if he _didn't_ shoot me in the goddamn head."

Swank's dark eyes swept over her face, then up at her scar, and he nodded, slowly. "I dig it, baby. So, you came by to make sure you weren't gonna get another lead kiss?"

"Damn straight," she said, slamming her fist down. "I never knew you were hot for Marjorie, though. It's awful sweet of you to go taking care of things for her, like that." Her mouth curled up into a slow grin. "Aw, but does she even _know?"_

"I'll thank you to keep that information to yourself, Maggie," Swank said, quite seriously. "What I do in my spare time is 'nunya'."

"Yeah, you know I don't _care,"_ she muttered.

"Listen, I won't go ruffling your feathers so long as you keep the peace." He glanced at Boone quickly, then looked back to her. "We all had reason to be hot in the collar, but we're apologizing, dig?"

"It's not a problem, Swank. I only came by to make sure you got the message, and to pick up some of my things." Maggie feigned disinterest, looking at her fingernails. It was none of her business what he did with the Ultra-Luxe boss, anyway. And she really _didn't_ care, in the end.

Swank considered her for a moment. "Maggie, you aren't gonna steal nothing, now are―"

She slapped her hand down and leaned into his face, baring her teeth. "Listen to me, you grimy little _cocksucker―"_

"Ah, I love it when you cuss at me," Swank interrupted, grinning. "Go on, I'm just fuckin' with ya." He waved her off, his face split into two almost.

"Stupid little _shit,"_ Maggie muttered, making her way into the casino. Boone followed behind, shaking his head. She stopped after a moment. "Hey," she turned to Boone. "Um, I'm gonna go grab some of my clothes. Won't take long. You wanna wait here?"

"And miss a tense elevator ride?" Boone chuckled at her. _"Gladly."_

"Keep it up, you jerk, see where it gets you." She pressed the elevator button a little harder than necessary.

"Right now it's getting me away from a _mean_ _lady,"_ he said, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall.

"Oh! _Oh,_ I am gonna hit you _so_ fucking hard, Craig!" she said, throwing a finger up in his face. "Just you wait, you― _oooh!"_

"Your car is here, you better go." He smiled at her, chuckling.

"I'm not _finished_ with you!" Maggie said, ducking into the elevator and growling to herself. As the doors closed she yelled out, "I'll get _you,_ for that one!"

"I'll bet," he said, just before the doors closed.

 _Oh, thank God,_ Maggie told herself. She didn't know if she could have withstood being in the car with him, alone. She leaned against the wall and sighed, touching her chest. Her heart was doing that stupid flutter again, for being teased by him.

It wasn't _fair._ She didn't know what to do. Wanted to be with him but―but couldn't trust herself, couldn't trust him. She remembered the drunken antics, she knew she had been stupid. She really shouldn't be anywhere alone with him because that was how it was gonna end. With her on top of him like that morning, but without clothing and him in a much better mood.

Maybe a _little_ more teasing. Maggie sighed and closed her eyes, smiling.

 _Well, I can still dream about it, at least. Maybe once this stupid shit with House is over with, there'll be a chance. And... and no more weird shit between us about Nero and Carla and... and all that._

She entered Benny's rooms and ignored the bloodstains, walking to the bedroom and looking around. Nah, she didn't even want to think about anything that went on here―should just get the clothes she'd forgotten before, and go. She turned to a wardrobe and opened it.

A funny beeping caught her attention. Maggie looked up and around the corner. "What the _hell,"_ she muttered.

Another fucking robot. Maggie groaned and ignored the damn thing, looking around the room with squinting eyes. "So this is where Benny used to hide from me, huh?" She scoffed. "All them fucking times I couldn't find his ass, and I thought he was out horsing off with some woman."

"This is Benny's workshop. When the Tops got renovated, he had this half of the floor blocked off for his own use." The robot's cheerful face turned to watch her as she moved around.

"I figured he had some secret thing." Maggie sighed. "So who the hell are _you?"_ The robot started to reply but she cut him off. "Alright, listen to me. Benny's _dead._ I'm your new boss. Tell me... what the _fuck_ is going on?"

"Oh! That's a shame, but I'm glad to meet you!" The Securitron annoyed her, but she let him continue. "I'm Yes Man! Benny wanted to kill Mr. House and use the Platinum Chip to copy my neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe. That would give me control over all of Mr. House's defenses, most prominently his Securitrons. And then I guess I just do as I'm told!"

Maggie stared at him, open mouthed.

Then she laughed until she couldn't breathe.

Benny had just handed her Vegas on a _silver platter._


	26. Ante Up

Note: If you don't see anything new from me for the next few days, I'm either tying one on, sleeping one off, or still drunk. I have to make a public appearance on occasion or people will start to think I've died.

* * *

Maggie stepped out of the elevator and turned to her left, stomping over to Boone, who was still leaning against the wall nearby. "C'mon," she hissed, pulling him by the elbow and toward the front door of the Tops.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word, letting her lead him to the front. She threw up a hand at Swank as they walked out, flipping him off. He wouldn't expect any less from her, she knew. And her leaving quickly would be normal, she always ran out the door when Benny was still around.

 _Fucking Benny!_ Maggie grinned to herself and willed her throat to still the laughter caught in it. _Fucking Benny and his grandiose plan!_

"What's going on?" Boone asked, after she hustled him out onto the street.

Maggie stopped and breathed out, leaning her hands onto her knees. "Change of plans," she said. "I'm not gonna report to House no more." She pushed the laughter down inside, and stood up straight. Boone only raised his eyebrow again, staring at her. It took her a minute to come up with the proper words. _Dammit, Maggie, hold it together! It's not that funny!_

 _But it **is.**_

"I'm a very lucky widow," she said, trying to keep the smirk off of her face.

"Benny left you some money or something?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," she told him, waving her hands. "No, he had a _plan,_ an absolutely _beautiful_ fucking plan―" She started laughing again. Couldn't help it―

 _Benny, you fucking bastard, I almost wish I **hadn't** killed you!_ Him with that fucking chip, planning to rule over the Strip like Not-At-Home was, planning to make everyone get the hell out of New Vegas who didn't _belong._ It was exactly what Maggie wanted to do wrapped up in a perfect package, and he'd left the robot up and running for her―everything was falling neatly into place, everything _perfect_ for how she wanted Vegas to be.

If she could use Yes Man to keep the Legion out of Vegas, and keep the NCR from stepping in to take over, it would be―just, the _best goddamn thing_ that'd ever happened to her. Send the robots to take out the Legion at the Dam and let them squabble themselves into non-existence like House had talked about―and the NCR would be less inclined to work a negotiation because Maggie would never let them have her home―

Her thoughts sobered with that. The NCR was occupying parts of Vegas right now because of their desire for expansion. And... _Boone_ was NCR. He'd worked for them, in the past. Had fought for them. She didn't know why he'd put his ass on the line, but if it were her, she wouldn't have done something like that unless it was for the _Family_ or... well, _maybe_ for him, but―

Her chest fluttered a little. _Shit._ Still had those stupid bloatflies in her stomach, when she thought about... about him. About her... want for him. Would have to deal with that, one day.

But not today― _today_ was about _Vegas,_ and about _home._ Home was more important than _Boone._ Wasn't it? She breathed out, and looked up at him. _...Wasn't_ it? _Maybe._ She didn't know. Made her chest hurt to think about giving up Boone for Vegas. Even if they were―on a break, or _something._

And it wasn't fair to make him do what she wanted. She'd had enough of that treatment, herself. They'd have to... figure something out. _Eventually._

Boone watched her, looking baffled. "You going to explain what's up?" he asked, a corner of his mouth curling up in response to her expression.

"Benny wanted to lord over Vegas," she said. Oh, _hell,_ it was _too_ fucking funny and perfect―she couldn't even control how happy she was.

"So did that Nero guy," Boone said, evenly. "What makes it different, _this_ time?"

 _"Well―"_ Maggie sank onto a bench and covered her face, laughing in a spurt. "Oh, my God," she said. "It's too _beautiful_ for words."

Boone stood and watched her for a moment, then sat down beside her, putting an arm over the back of the bench. "I agree," he said, smiling.

"Oh, my _God,"_ she repeated, turning and headbutting him in the chest, shaking with laughter. "...I can't stop laughing, oh." She felt tears popping into her eyes. Ignored him trying to be smooth with her, there. Her heart wouldn't let her forget, but―but Benny's _plan―_

It was still mind-blowing. Maggie didn't even know where to begin, thinking about it.

Boone moved his arm to rest around her back, squeezing her shoulder. "Take your time," he said, amused.

Probably about five minutes later, she managed to get herself under control and explain to Boone about Yes Man and the plan to take over Vegas. He watched her with a tiny smile that disappeared completely by the end.

"That Benny guy was a piece of work." He shook his head and removed his arm from around her back.

"I _know,_ right?" She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky. "Here I was, thinking his plan to take over was all words and no action, and he'd already got it wrapped up and _ready_ _to go."_

"What's your plan, then?"

Maggie stopped laughing. Maybe today _was_ the day to deal with... that mess of politics. She'd probably fuck it up, though. She usually did.

She looked over at Boone and narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you still NCR?" she asked, cautiously.

"I am," he said, but he shrugged. "Think they've got the right idea. Why?"

"I'm not gonna let the NCR come in and take over Vegas," she told him, point-blank. "I won't stand for them assholes trying to make this place their _home._ It's my home. _Mine."_

Boone blinked and moved away from her, turning himself to look at her directly. "Okay," he said, calmly.

"I'm not gonna let those fucking bastards across the river have it, either," she added, crossing her arms and staring at him. "You _know_ that."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I don't want you to go throwing a _fit_ or something, about this―" she bit her tongue and tried not to be mean. It was real fucking hard for her, this wordplay stuff.

"Maggie," Boone said, sighing. "I just want _you._ ...That's all."

The way he was looking at her― _goddammit!_ She swallowed hard and looked down, her heart pounding. "Boone―"

"I mean it, Maggie. I just want you," he said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his chin. "I trust you," he added. "Might be angry all the time, but I know you mean well."

Maggie's chest gave a weird thump and she rubbed her breastbone through the leather armor. She knew he still loved Carla. But―but he was acting like he loved _her,_ too, and with everything going on between them, with her and that stupid chip, and her business with House and―just _every_ fucking _thing_ right now―

"But if the NCR hates me, they might shoot at me," she pointed out, looking back to him. "And I don't want you to... to _leave_ me, if that happens. If I have to fight back. I'm gonna make a _lot_ of enemies, here."

Boone stared at her for a moment, then cupped her cheeks, and put his forehead against hers. She hated that. He was too close to her, made her blush. Stupid thoughts that felt _great_ but were gonna be her goddamn undoing, ran through her head. She reached up to push him away, but stopped herself when he started talking.

"I'll sit tight," he said quietly, staring her in the eyes. "If you need to do something that will be a problem. I don't _want_ to leave. I promised I'd listen to you. _I will."_

"Dammit," Maggie swore, closing her eyes against the tears. She pushed him away and stood up, walking off abruptly. "Goddammit!"

She walked away from him, not sure how to react to it. She couldn't tell him what she _really_ wanted―

* * *

Boone didn't come to find her, after she walked off. Let her go do her thing, like he'd said he would. She almost hoped he'd come and make her angry, because then she'd _know_ how to act. How to react to his―to his _wanting_ her. How to react to her own wanting him, which was something she was pretending pretty hard didn't _exist._

This lovey-dovey shit... it was too _much_ for her. Maggie was a simple girl, she liked getting drunk, having sex, and punching people. Boone's way of yanking on her heart was making her hurt, and she didn't like the hurt. Maybe it hurt because she didn't want to admit―fucking _hell,_ she didn't know.

It was too sophisticated for her. Too much like someone _else,_ who was still very much in her mind even if she was pretending she wasn't making parallels. Trying not to think about any man whatsoever, except Benny. Because she really _could_ kiss him for the wonderful gift he'd left her, and because he was never even inside the picture frame of her heart.

She resolved herself immediately by grabbing up a bottle of vodka and half-drowning herself, before she tracked down Emily Ortal. Yes Man mentioned the Follower woman in his spiel about Benny's plans, and Maggie wasn't smart enough to weasel her way around a computer without a little help.

Drunkenly, Maggie stumbled through Freeside, and sloshed her way into the Old Mormon Fort. She blinked a little, then made her way across the rocks to Julie.

"You again." Julie pressed her lips together and stared down at Maggie. "Why are you bothering to visit? Finally decided to jump on the wagon?"

She glared at the mohawked woman for a moment before she answered. _That is the last time I try to make a damn friend,_ she told herself. _I'm no fucking good at it._

"I'm here on business, Julie," she slurred out. "I need to talk to Emily."

"She's around." Julie narrowed her eyes at her. "But I think you ought to be here for treatment, not to talk shop with our researchers. How long has it been since you were sober?"

Maggie rolled her eyes and turned away. "Whatever, Julie, I don't fucking care. I need to ask Emily about some shit she was doing for Benny."

"Mind yourself, Mag," was all Julie said. Maggie waved her off and stumbled away.

Half an hour later Maggie had given up in frustration at Emily trying to teach her to use a terminal, and was told to go sleep it off and come back when she was sober. _Hah, like that's gonna fucking help._

She walked around Freeside for a little bit, then decided to go up to the Kings building and see what was new with The King.

* * *

After Carla left the Strip... it wasn't as much fun, anymore. Maggie spent a month or two trying to find someone to hang out with, but most of the tourists on the Strip moved on after a few days and never came back. She couldn't go to the Gomorrah no more, after marrying that asshat, and she sure as _hell_ wasn't hanging around the Tops and letting Benny pester her. That left her with the Ultra-Luxe―and she wasn't keen to go play nice to the stupid cannibals―and that weird woman in Vault 21. What was her name. Maggie didn't remember. Didn't like her, _anyway._

She did remember that she'd gone down into Freeside and checked out the sights. Got friendly with the Garrett twins―she chuckled, _just friendly enough not to get tossed out on my ass,_ mostly because she was a well-paying customer. She'd also learned to avoid Dixon― _fucking asshole!_ ―and tried to be friendly with Julie Farkas, but _that_ hadn't worked. She was too drunk most of the time for Julie's liking.

The only person in Freeside she was even remotely interested in talking to on a regular basis was The King, and that was because he understood. Doing what you _wanted,_ living free of the rules, _hell,_ he was the male version of Maggie.

Plus, she liked the way he talked. It was funny and he knew it made her laugh.

"Mag." Pacer nodded at her, and jerked a thumb at the theater door. "Go on."

She rubbed Rex's side and smiled at him before she sat down beside The King, pulling two chairs over and putting her feet up in the second one. "I'm having a hell of a week," she told him. "Shit's just... crazy. Just fucking _crazy,_ man."

"Hate to hear that, Mag." The King looked over at her and touched the top of a deck of playing cards on the table. "Heard about Benny. And the other one, the Omerta man. Bad run of luck for ya."

"It's not even _that,"_ she said, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. "I mean, shit. I'm not mad Benny's gone. And Nero―" she sighed. "I'm a fucking _idiot."_

"You lose both your sweethearts in a week and that's the least of your troubles?" King shook his head at her and chuckled in that funny way of his. Maggie smiled. "I can't imagine what could be _worse."_

She'd told him she was the "Courier chick". King knew about her being shot, knew about her being Omerta. Hell, he probably knew more than Boone ever would, about everything. If Nero hadn't brainwashed her―Maggie _might_ have taken her chances with the Freeside gang leader.

Maggie sat up straighter in her chair. "King, baby," she said, smearing on the honey. "You know I _love_ ya."

"Oh, now, I _know_ that tone of voice." He tapped the cards. "What's your angle?"

"Need advice," she said, lowering her feet and leaning forward. "I have a real opportunity, here, and I―I don't know what to do."

"Lay it on me, mama," King said, smiling with one half of his mouth.

She explained the deal with New Vegas, briefly. "I can push the NCR and those Legion bastards out of the Mojave," she said, putting her fingertips together. "I can take out Mr. House, too, and I think I'm going to. But..."

"But running the show ain't your style?" he said, nodding.

"It ain't really _me,_ no," she said, looking up at him. "I got real excited to see this plan Benny had, but, shit. It's too _complicated."_

"I don't think I can help you, there," he said, after a moment. "I have enough on my plate, keeping Freeside in check."

"How do you _do_ it?" she asked. "I don't even know how to start."

"Treat 'em with respect," King said, tapping his forehead. He sighed. "But lately, that ain't been the case."

Maggie let him talk to her about the problems in Freeside. The NCR was jamming their thumb up the butt of the residents, letting their own people run around as they liked, getting in the way of people who lived in the slums.

"Doesn't sound right," Maggie agreed. "You want me to take care of it?"

"If you could see it in your heart, mama, I'd be _much_ obliged." King smiled at her again. "Not like you to be so nice to me, Mag. You got another sweetheart in the wings, I don't know about? Or is it my turn to saddle up?"

Maggie flushed a little. _"King!"_ He laughed at her. "There is one," she admitted. "I don't know what to do about it."

"Mag's gone soft for a man. Color _me_ surprised," King drawled sarcastically. "No hope for ya, mama. Give in to it. Enjoy it while it lasts, 'cause it sounds like you ain't gotta have much time left."

"I keep thinking that too," she said, drawing a circle on the tabletop with her finger. "Ain't happened, though."

King patted her shoulder, and smiled at her. "You really like this man?"

Maggie nodded slowly, feeling sick to her stomach. "...It's pretty serious."

"Get on it. Run home to him." King's smile widened. "But you gotta let me know when it's my turn to ante up, mama. I've been _real_ patient."

"Oh, fuck _you,_ man," Maggie growled, and the King laughed at her as she left the building. Thinking hard and feeling the sobriety coming on.

 _Ante up._ That was it. She had to ante up, and take charge. Maggie grumbled under her breath all the way back to the Lucky 38.

God help her if she _fucked it_ _up,_ though.


	27. Never Not F―ed

Note: I figured it was about time for a memory thing, and hoping this moves into a better little side quest thing. At this point I'm writing 'til I get somewhere

* * *

Maggie lay on the bed in her room, stomach-down and eating an apple, poking at her Pip-Boy with sticky fingers. She was trying to suss out something to help her with the computer thing; not much was coming to light that would help her. There wasn't a person in the world who could teach her to use a damn computer properly.

She growled at the stupid Pip-Boy. Didn't even like to use the goddamn thing, with all its funny little screens. She put up the radio screen and looked through the available stations. Really, the only thing that she liked about the stupid wrist computer was the radio.

"What the hell is Black Mountain," she muttered to herself.

She turned on Radio New Vegas and listened to Mr. New Vegas talking. "The influx of displaced residents to the refugee camp at Bitter Springs has caused a strain on rations there. NCR officials are asking for donations."

Great Khans again. Maggie flipped herself over and stared at the ceiling. Manny had been a Great Khan. She felt kind of bad for being so mean to him, now. What with Boone having all those troubles. Manny was Boone's best friend, and now he had none.

Shit, he didn't have anyone but her, really. Maybe that was why he didn't want to leave. ...Maybe that was why he was acting like he _loved_ her, too. Because he was lonely and there was _no one_ _else._

Maggie knew loneliness. Did she _ever_ know about _that._ Being stuck without Carla on the Strip, having to deal with Benny on a daily basis and not even allowed to go home because Nero told her _no_ ―she tried not to think about that.

Carla left them both in the lurch, in a way. And Maggie had tried to save both herself and Boone, from that loneliness. Didn't seem like it was working.

She sat up and stared at the radio as Johnny Guitar came on. _Dammit._ Her eyes prickled with tears. She remembered... what happened when Carla left.

And what she'd had to do―

* * *

 _"So where the fuck is she?"_

Maggie was sitting with her knees up to her chest, staring down at the bed sheet. Nero was pacing his room, cracking his knuckles and making agitated noises under his breath. It was well into the early hours of the morning and she'd sneaked into his suite like she always did, to see him.

"I don't fucking know," Maggie said, uncurling her legs. She winced a little at the motion―her legs were sore as hell from helping to look for Carla. All day long she'd scoured the Strip, looking in all the spots where she and Carla had hung out or went to. She was nowhere to be found―

"If we don't find her by _tomorrow―"_ Nero swore violently and kicked a chair. Maggie stared up at him, rubbing her calves. He rubbed his chin, looking out into the suite. "The plan is ruined," he said, angrily. "Without that _bitch,_ how can we make good for the fucking Chairmen?"

"I dunno," she said, again. Maggie sighed and pulled her legs back up to her chest. "I really don't know."

"I don't get it," he said, pointing a finger at her. "You two were thick as thieves. And you can't even find her?"

"I ain't her fucking _keeper,_ Nero!" Maggie glared at him. "You think I know everything about Carla? I don't know jack _shit!"_

Which was true. Carla was gone and Maggie had _no idea_ where she would have gone off to―or what she had been doing. She'd dumped Maggie on the Strip, left her groaning in pain and bleeding from a stab wound, after a big fight about the upcoming marriage. Maggie knew Carla didn't _want_ to marry Benny―fucking hell, the man thought he was God's gift to women. A real asshole, and no joke, he thought he was so smooth. But Carla hadn't ever been violent like that, ever before, not even to Maggie and they fought like cats and dogs all the fucking _time._

No one had seen her for two whole days. It was pretty obvious she'd fled the Strip because of the fight. Or maybe it was because she just wanted out of the marriage. Maggie growled under her breath and felt the stitches in her ass. Didn't fucking _matter_ ―when you were asked to do something, you did it.

 _Thanks a fucking lot, Carla._ Maggie grimaced in pain. She was gonna punch her right in the goddamn nose when they found her.

"When I _find_ that bitch―" Nero clenched his fists and breathed out. He turned to Maggie and released his fists, then ran a hand through his hair. "Maggie, what the fuck am I gonna do?"

She sighed and laid herself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. She knew Nero didn't talk like that to anyone else―showing weakness, he called it. "I guess we could tell them the whole thing is off..." she said. It really seemed like the only thing they _could_ do.

"There is no fucking way in _hell_ that's gonna happen. We'd be up to our asses in Chairmen, fucking around on the casino floor, acting all fucking full of themselves." Nero sat down on the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes, and took off his jacket. "No way in hell. Couldn't do our _thing,_ Maggie. You know what I _want―"_

"I do," she said. She pushed herself up and put an arm around his back, rubbing his chest through his shirt. "...I guess we'll find a someone to take Carla's place and marry the jackass."

Nero paused, holding his tie out as he was loosening it. She released him and laid herself down again. After a moment of frozen silence he took the tie off and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the floor. "Maggie, baby," he said, turning and running a hand along her leg. "I _love_ you."

Maggie flushed and looked away, her hands fiddling with the fabric around her waist. "I love you, too," she murmured, her face on fire.

Nero turned and crawled over her, running his hands up her thighs and grabbing her hips. He pulled her to him, pressing himself into her, and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Maggie moaned and moved her hands to his belt, trying to unbuckle it.

Nero chuckled and released her, sitting upright on his knees. He undid his belt and unzipped his pants, then shoved them down and plunged forward onto her, pushing up her skirt.

Maggie felt the sting of the stitches, but she didn't care. Nero was here, and that was _all_ she _wanted―_

He took it slow for her, nipping at her neck and being gentle. Maggie loved him so much, she didn't care if he ripped out the stitches, or if it hurt. She felt herself falling into the bliss of sex, her voice pulled from her throat by his slow thrusts and wandering hands.

 _"Nero,"_ she breathed out, running her hands along his back. _"Ohhhhh―"_

Nero moved a little faster, helping her along, gripping her hip tightly, one arm above her head and holding the edge of the mattress. Maggie's thighs squeezed him to her, her back arching up and her head thrown back.

After, he laid down beside her and moved his hand along her stomach, rubbing her gently. Maggie blinked sleepily, feeling the soreness of her legs and the hurt of her stab wound, and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. "Thank you," she said, nuzzling his cheek.

"Maggie," he said, caressing her neck. She shivered, feeling the excitement travel down to her thighs again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she mumbled, fighting a yawn.

"I would do _anything_ for you," he said, softly. "We need to replace Carla, for the wedding."

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled, sleepily. She closed her eyes, feeling how warm the room was.

"Would you do it?"

Maggie rubbed her cheek against his neck, slipping into sleep. Couldn't fight it. She was too relaxed, to fight anything.

"Would you marry Benny for me, baby?"

"I would do anything for _you,"_ she said, and felt herself fall into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

"Who the fuck is _this_ broad?" Benny asked, holding both hands out and gesturing to Maggie. She fought the urge to whip out her straight edge and tear open his throat. She settled for curling her lip at him and snarling. Nero told her to behave, but goddammit... _she didn't want to be here!_

"This is Maggie," Nero said, crossing his arms over his chest and flicking his eyes around the Tops casino again. He hadn't stopped looking for a threat since the two of them had come to the place with the guards handpicked by Big Sal. Sal himself was standing behind Maggie, a hand on her shoulder and a firm look on his face.

"Maggie is Big Sal's daughter," Nero said. "As we discussed, we are presenting her."

He didn't sound too happy. Maggie expected he wouldn't, _fuck all_ ―fucking Carla getting Maggie's ass in trouble for the first time in _ages,_ goddammit―and it was the _worst fucking trouble―_

She forced herself to look bored and rolled her eyes. Benny raised both his eyebrows and looked her up and down, then smiled. "This is the one you wanted me to marry? Thought I was s'posed to get circled with the blonde."

"Guess I need to be a little straighter with you, next time," Nero said, regarding the man with a critical look. "You got a problem with Maggie?"

Benny turned his attention back to the Omerta leader. "No, I don't got a problem. Just surprised, is all."

Sal squeezed Maggie's shoulder, and released her. She shot him a glance and tried her very best not to be rude. "Nice to finally meet you," she said, to Benny, looking down at her hands and twisting them together in a coy way.

Fucking rules. _"Be nice,"_ Nero said. _"Play the shy gal."_ Sal told her to act like she thought Carla should and not to say anything unless it was something nice, or he was gonna take a hammer to her toenails. ...He _would,_ too. _Fucking bastard._

She forced herself to look up at Benny and smile. He grinned back, staring at her with a nasty look. "Alright, cat, it's a deal. Bring her up about six and we'll put some glue on."

Sal put his hand back on her shoulder as they left the casino, practically pushing her out of the place. She turned and growled at him when they were in the clear, and shot an irritated look at Nero.

"I don't like this," Nero said, looking over her head at Sal. "Them bastards were being too cute. Something's up."

"Thought that too." Sal said, succinctly. They made their way back to the Gomorrah, and expressed his frustration by kicking a trash can to the ground. _"Fuck!"_ he yelled. "This is _bullshit, Nero―"_

"I know," Nero said, looking over at Maggie. She frowned, angrily, trying not to think about it. "It's the only way to make it right, though."

"Where the fuck is _Carla,"_ Sal muttered, angrily stomping down the Strip.

"I've got men out looking for her," Nero said. "Need to be patient, Big Sal."

Maggie sighed, and shuffled back through the casino doors. She went right to her room and shut the door, then threw a tantrum. Threw a _huge_ tantrum, stabbing pillows and throwing shit, and making a lot of noise. She broke a couple of vases, too, and the only thing that stopped her from continuing was the sight of a little leather-bound book inside one of the vases.

Maggie crouched down and picked up the journal, and thumbed through it. She knew Carla wrote down all the things that her and Maggie did, on the Strip. Said she kept it to remember what they'd done, how _crazy_ they were. To read back and get a handle on their past.

Maggie carried the journal to the couch, and sat down to read it. Wasn't much in it that caught her eye, until she got to the page dated a week ago―

"I'm not marrying that man!" Maggie rolled her eyes. Same thing she'd told her, during their fight. "He's an idiot! I'd rather marry half the stupid men that wander 'round the Strip."

Everything else was just a list of things about Benny and Nero that Carla hated. Maggie turned the page. She didn't care what Carla thought. Carla hadn't cared to stick around for her, and now she was stuck to the jackass. _Fucking bitch._

"I found one. Good guy, real nice. Easy to get at, and so shy. Maggie would eat him alive," Carla wrote. "I sealed the deal tonight, at the Luxe. I'll be leaving in the morning. I really" A pause in the words. "I don't want to leave like this. Have to, though. I'm _not_ spending the rest of my life getting dicked by some idiot in a suit who thinks he's hot stuff. Not for Nero, not for Maggie, not for _anyone"_

Maggie growled. _That_ was her plan, was it? Found some stupid ignoramous to take her off the Strip and hide her from the Family? Wasn't gonna _work._ Maggie _knew_ Nero would find her, come hell or high water.

"Tells me he's got a place to go, down south. Never been that way, but hey, it sounds real quaint. Cute, even. I just hope Maggie lets me get out of here tomorrow without a fight."

Maggie burned the journal in a barrel, out in the courtyard, after she made sure no one was watching. No one needed to read that _shit._ Carla might be gone and fucked her over, but there was a lot in there that was gonna get her ass _killed._ ...Like the entry before the one about this good guy. Maggie flushed. Sal would take more than a hammer to her toes if he even _knew_ about the journal.

She cried later, cried her eyes out because it was actually happening and she couldn't ignore it. Nero hugged her to him and told her how pretty she looked in her wedding clothes, but it didn't help.

She was _so fucked,_ now―

* * *

Maggie turned off the Pip-Boy and wiped her eyes. Thinking about Nero was useless. She really shouldn't let herself remember _anything._ It only made her sad, and her being sad was _stupid._ She was probably about to get herself killed, going after Not-At-Home, trying to fix his little red wagon.

She sucked snot up into her head and pushed back tears again. Nero asking her like that, had made her feel _dumb_ the day after. And she'd... she'd turned around and told him what Carla said about going south with some man. God, she felt like _shit_ now. Back then she'd been so angry, she didn't care. But Carla wasn't doing it to screw her over. She wanted what Maggie wanted, to be free and do her own thing.

Maggie curled up with her knees at her chest and cried again. Carla was the _smart_ one―figured out how to get out on her own. And she'd probably actually liked Boone. She'd stuck around and let him get her pregnant, after all.

Now Maggie was stuck with him, too, but she didn't have to be. Not if she didn't _want_ to be.

But Carla had been right. Boone was a good guy. And Maggie _wanted_ to be.

Goddamn, she was never not gonna be _fucked._


	28. Guilty

Note: I'm having trouble keeping my word quotas below 2700 lately, so apologies for the long chapters, hope I get it back on track. Not sure what the hell happened at the end here.

This is what happens when I'm out of it all day from vomiting children, though. sigh

* * *

He returned to the Lucky 38 after she dashed off. Knew she was upset; decided not to get on her nerves more than he needed to, so just headed home. The ride up the elevator, he felt like he should have said something different, something that wouldn't upset her, but―

Boone doubted very much that anything he could say would make her feel any different. She was playful one moment, and testy the next. Wasn't the first time he'd encountered a moody woman; wouldn't be the last, he was sure.

Maggie had her own plan for politics―one he wasn't going to like very much. She had the opportunity to side with the NCR, if she wanted, but she wasn't going to. Made that clear. Wasn't sure how he should react to that. She'd acted very suspicious, asking him about his affiliation with the NCR. Like she thought he'd leave if she was going to create an independent Vegas.

He'd never given quarter, against the Legion, against whoever the NCR sent First Recon up against. Except―it brought to mind memories that he didn't want to think about. Things he was guilty of, things that he knew were the reason he shouldn't be alive.

Murder. _Mass_ murder. He was a murderer and he did not deserve to be happy. _Ever._

He'd never been able to talk to Carla about that.

Could he tell Maggie? ...She wouldn't understand why he'd followed orders. Wouldn't understand the appeal of a military lifestyle. Maggie had been a trophy, a prize won by the men of Vegas. She hadn't been trained for combat; she had been trained to―he didn't know, maybe she'd learned how to be a better bully. Along with her decent skill with a blade, she was pretty good at being mean.

She didn't have a great love for people who weren't herself. Maybe he could tell her. She was selfish enough not to care about the people he'd murdered. Wasn't likely she'd throw him out on his ass, if he did... but she _could_ use the excuse to get rid of him, if she was so frustrated enough by the situation between them.

It would be a lot simpler if they weren't together. At all. His bad karma wouldn't be on her, getting her strangled and making her the target of his sinful attentions. Thought she was trying to chase him away, anyway. He couldn't tell. She wanted him around to watch her ass, but didn't want him around. Wanted him to want her, but didn't. It was funny, and cute in a way, when she was flustered around him. Like she didn't know what to say or to do...

Carla hadn't gotten flustered. She _always_ knew what to say.

Boone ate a meal and retired to the guest room, lying on the bed with his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't tell Carla about his past. Had... had felt like she would run off, if he did. He hadn't wanted her to ever go away.

And she hadn't, until karma forced itself. Until his bad deeds finally caught up to him. Should have never gotten close to her.

Shit, maybe all that bad karma was on _Maggie,_ now.

Maybe he _should_ let her push him away. Maybe he shouldn't let her have the chance to want to love him.

But maybe she already did, and he would hurt her _more_ if he left.

Boone turned onto his side and breathed out, closing his eyes. Carla pushed, too. Carla wanted to leave Novac, had threatened to go on her own. He felt the emotion making his head hurt, making his ears sting.

Thought about what had happened the night before―

Before the world ended, for him.

* * *

"I don't want to _be here,_ Craig," she said, crossing her arms over her stomach and staring down at him. It was the third time that week, that she'd brought up the topic of leaving Novac, of going back to Vegas. She hadn't been entirely clear on the matter as to why, other than her intense dislike of the sleepy little town. She'd only gotten angrier each time the argument started.

He pulled on his boots and stared at the floor, not meeting her eyes. Not wanting to confront her, to make it worse. She was angry; he didn't like her angry. Liked her happy. When she was angry, she refused to see reason. It was like arguing with a wall.

"I swear to _God,_ your skull is as thick as―" she growled and looked up at the ceiling. He looked up at her, then, and saw the tears in her eyes. Saw how upset she really was.

Never in the whole of their relationship had she cried. If she was _that_ upset― _shit,_ he was in deep trouble. He didn't want to go back up there; she was about as lost in _Novac_ as _he_ was on the Strip.

"Carla," he said, putting his feet on the floor and standing up from the bed. "Baby, don't cry."

"You don't _listen!"_ she said, blinking rapidly. "I _hate_ it here! No one _likes_ me, that stupid friend of yours is always on my case―" She covered her face with one hand and fought off a sob. "And―lots of _other_ things―"

"Carla," he said, putting his arms around her chest and squeezing her from behind. She shook him off and moved forward, covering her face with both hands.

"I don't want you to touch me," she said, angrily. _"Don't_ touch me! _I mean it!"_

"Okay," he said, sighing. "I have to go to work, Carla. I _have_ to. You know what could happen if I'm not out there watching―"

"I hope it _does!"_ she shrieked, moving to the bathroom, and slamming the door open. She stared at him with cold eyes, her brow drawn together in frustration. "I hope everyone _dies,_ and then you'll be boohooing it up like a _damn baby!"_ She ducked into the bathroom and shut the door with a shudder.

"I'll be up in the dinosaur if you need me," he said, trying not to show his own anger. He waited a moment to see if she would reply, then stepped outside and locked the door behind him.

Jeannie May was locking up the door of the lobby, and waved to him as she moved away. Boone stepped across the lot, hearing the rocks crunching under his feet, and tried not to think about anything at all.

It wasn't so easy, when he wasn't on duty. When he wasn't shooting the enemy.

Manny met him halfway, caught him up with a few words. Wanted to know if Carla was still throwing tantrums all night. "She's been real loud, keeping me up at night. When's she gonna get over that Vegas business?"

Boone clenched his jaw and stared away into the coming night, trying his damnedest not to answer with a snap. Left Manny standing there in the lot with a raised eyebrow and an unanswered question, because he just―just couldn't make excuses anymore. Carla was pushing too far, and it was wearing his patience thin.

He took the stairs two at a time and settled himself into the mouth of the dinosaur, staring out into the wastes. Tried _not_ to think, again. Didn't work.

...At first he'd thought it was just the baby thing. She was six months along, she was moody on a _good_ day, even. Hadn't gotten better, only worse, and he knew that was something that happened. Still left him feeling like he'd walked through a blast radius, sometimes. But he was tough, and he wanted―

Wanted _family._ Didn't have anyone but her and Manny. Would be nice to have a rugrat or two running around Novac. Nice to see Carla's face in the kid, God knew his was an ugly mug. He smiled a little at the thought. He still hoped it was a girl, despite Carla's anger. Didn't need any more angry bastards like himself out there.

But... but it _wasn't_ going away, no matter what he tried. No matter how much he'd talked to her, pleaded with her, tried to talk her out of it―never commanded, she'd leave the minute he started acting the boss. He wasn't stupid. Just in love with a real touchy woman. Nothing worked, to stop her anger.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead under the beret. Maybe it would be better... to give in. To go back up to Vegas―for a _little_ while, and let her see just how bad it was up there for him, for her. For a family. There was no place in the entirety of Vegas, that he could think of, where they would have an easier time than out here. Out here in Novac, out where no one would bother them so long as he had his rifle and Manny had his back.

Manny was starting to lose patience with Carla, too. Boone swept his rifle across the distance again. Manny wanted to make it work, in Novac. Had asked him to come with, when he got out. And he'd agreed, because it had only been him and Manny then, and they would have the job guarding the town―which paid decently, but not as much as First Recon had.

He'd agreed to come out with Manny, but then he'd gone to Bitter Springs―without Manny―

Boone breathed out in a rush and cracked his neck, and went back to ignoring that part of his past.

Discharged from First Recon. Went to New Vegas one last time, before settling down in Novac. Met Carla outside of the Gomorrah, curling her finger around her hair and staring at him like no girl _ever_ had. She'd offered to show him the sights of Vegas, trailing behind some raggedy redhead that swore up a storm when Carla ditched her.

Man, that had been a _great_ night. Nothing like it since, nothing ever again.

And she'd dragged him out of bed at the Wrangler the next morning and asked him to get her out of Vegas, and he had. Just seeing the excitement on her face and the shining brown eyes―she wanted _him,_ and she wanted help, and he―

Dammit, he _loved_ her.

Boone watched the wastes and decided it was probably better to try to do what she wanted, at least until she understood why he didn't like Vegas.

Time passed slow, that night. Slow, until he found her gone in the morning, the bloodstain on the carpet, and the room torn up. And Manny―fucking Manny, who said he'd watch out for Carla, with the goddamn _relief_ in his eyes at hearing she was missing―and everything had gone so fast―

* * *

Boone jerked awake in the Lucky 38, hearing someone crying. Blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, and sat up, rubbing his back where he'd slept funny. He stared at the floor for a moment, before he realized the crying was not a part of his grogginess. It was in the suite.

He stood, moving out of the room and to the master bedroom. Knocked on the door gently. "Maggie?" he asked, carefully.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice tight with emotion.

"Can I come in?" he asked. "Just for a little while."

 _"No―"_ she said, and there was a muted crash from inside the room. Maggie swore out loud and another short crashing noise sounded. Then she groaned and said, "Alright, _fuck,_ come in."

There was a bloody vase on the floor when he stepped inside, moving toward her on the bed. He stared down at the vase for a moment, then looked up at Maggie. She was pretending that her foot wasn't bleeding profusely from the heel, leaving a sizable bloodstain over the carpet, sitting barefoot on the bed with little on except for her underwear.

"Are you okay, Maggie?" he asked, gently.

"I'm just fine." She glanced at him, then away. "Just fine, but―if you could find me a doctor's bag or something―" She stared up and away from him with reddened cheeks, her arms crossed over her chest and her foot pressed firmly into the carpet. "I mean, there might be something in there to fix the vase―"

Boone did what she asked, setting down a bag by her side after a moment of searching. He leaned down on one knee and grabbed up her foot, wiping it carefully with a piece of gauze. "You kicked a vase, huh," he said, casually.

"No, it _fell_ and I stepped on it," she said. "Lucky I didn't bash my head off the goddamn wall or something." She growled a little.

He moved his hand up to her knee and grabbed her a little tighter, intending to sweep her leg up onto the bed and into his lap. She flinched, violently.

 _Flinched._ Boone turned his head to stare at her through his sunglasses, raising an eyebrow. "Maggie―" he started.

"I didn't mean to," she said, in a gush. "I'm _sorry―"_

"You don't need to be sorry," he said, quietly, moving himself onto the edge of the bed and putting her foot in his lap. Cleaned it with antiseptic while she stared at him with a flushed face. "It's my fault," he added. "I did things I shouldn't have. Wouldn't blame you if you're nervous."

"No," she murmured, embarrassed. "I―I don't _hate_ you, Boone― _just_ ―just don't like being touched―"

Torture _again._ Every time. He sighed and fixed her foot up, bandaging it quickly.

"―under my knee," she went on. "I'm real fucking ticklish and I might kick you in the face or something." She flushed redder. "Uh, but hey, _thanks._ I appreciate it."

Boone moved her foot off his lap, standing, and dropped it deliberately to the bedspread. Maggie made a pained noise and put her fists up angrily. "You did that on purpose! You're _trying_ to hurt me, you jerk!"

"You're tough, Maggie, I'm sure you'll be fine." He smiled at her, but it faded. "...Why were you crying?"

She went still, her fists dropping to her side, and stared at the bed. "I―" She sighed. "I _hate_ this shit," she muttered, leaning back on the headboard. "I hate being―being _stuck_ with all this business and being stuck _with_ ―with you―and not _knowing_ what to do." She wiped her nose. _"Carla_ would know what to do. She always did."

 _Yeah,_ he thought, _she always did know._ Until, well, until her past caught up with her, and he'd blamed his _own_ past for it, for such a long time... He sighed. "She did," he agreed, out loud.

"Did you know, she had a journal," Maggie said, reaching under her pillow and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. "She wanted to come home to Vegas, and she had this amazing plan―" She thrust the paper at him. "Well, you read it."

Boone looked down at the spidery handwriting, then back up at Maggie. "No," he said, wrapping her hand up in his. "It's _personal._ And it's the past. It's time to let her go, Maggie. To move on."

"Wish it were _that_ easy." Maggie pulled her hand back and he came with it, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

"It isn't," he agreed. "But it's time." He rubbed her hand with his other. "There are more important things to do."

She stared at him for a split second before she sighed. "Alright, fine," she said, grumbling a little. "Get over here." She held out her arm for a hug. "One time offer, jerk," she added, scowling.

He could only let his mouth curl up into a knowing smile. "You hate being stuck with me, huh," he said, and hugged her to him.

"Shut up, Craig."


	29. Play Along

Note: Okay, crunch time, guys. I can go ahead and work toward the end here, writing about Maggie figuring out Vegas, or I could draw it out with some fluff chapters. (TBH, I'm not happy with how this chap is going, but had to close up an element I introduced on a whim)

What say you? More chapters before the end, or not. Leave me a note.

Sorry about the delay. Stomach bugs hit everyone and both my kids are on antibiotics.

* * *

"Why am I here, again?" Boone glanced up at Maggie, as they walked through the Strip gate. The wind picked up around them, making her shiver. The thin Pre-War dress she was wearing offered no protection from the chill. She held down the skirt so it wouldn't flip around, grumbling; she'd picked it out of her old clothes for the occasion, but she'd forgotten why she never liked wearing it.

Stupid thing. Maybe she was getting used to the leather armor. Kept her legs warm, at least. Right now she was feeling very _vulnerable,_ and vulnerable was a feeling that Maggie fucking _hated._

"I _told_ you, we just have to figure this out for the King―" Maggie flicked a stray hair out of her eyes. She glanced up at the Strip behind them, then fixed her eyes on the Kings building. "After that, I'll know a little bit more about what to do with Vegas. Right now I dunno how to even _start_ with Benny's plan."

"Yeah... But you're dealing with NCR in Freeside, right," Boone pointed out, as their feet crunched across the road. "Thought you didn't want me around for that."

Maggie stopped, and turned to look at him. "Keep complaining, jerk. See where it gets you."

Boone chuckled and nodded, smiling at her. Maggie turned back to the street ahead of her, adjusting the green piece of shit dress again. "I need you to wait," she said. "Like, right here by the Strip gates. I'm gonna run down and make someone's day really fucking awful."

"What's the plan?" Boone asked, crossing his arms and staring at her.

Maggie looked at him over her shoulder and grinned. "You stay here, I get led by some idiot guard up the street and figure out how come he's so popular that he's pulling in all the _hot_ bodyguard money in Freeside. Need you to wait near the end, just in case something goes down. I think it _will."_

"You have your machete?" Boone asked her.

"Of _cour_ ―goddammit, Boone, that's like asking me if I _don't_ want a drink!" She scowled at his amused expression. " 'Course I got my weapon, I ain't _stupid!"_

He smiled. "Alright, Maggie. Go churn the water."

"Since when do I need _you_ to tell me when to do something!" Maggie put her hands on her hips and growled. "Look, man, we're not _exactly_ at one hundred percent―"

"You're drawing attention, Maggie," Boone said, his eyes moving to the left but his head remaining still. "Get out of here."

She turned and stomped away, grumbling and muttering to herself. _Jerk! Just―ugh!_ After that mess with her foot―she was still limping a little bit, really, it hurt to stomp along like that―and she'd let Boone hug her again, which was more than the butthead _deserved,_ ugh! After all that, he was acting like she―like she didn't _know_ how to protect herself?

Maggie slowed her pace and limped through the gates to the other side of Freeside. Carla was in the past, he'd said. Time to let go. Like she could let go of that―she was _still_ her sister, and still _dead_ ―Maggie had to get some revenge on the Legion for Carla, still. Revenge that she hadn't been _able_ to get when she'd gone up to the Fort.

Stupid fucking _Legion._ She was gonna tear them a new one, when she got the chance. Just... didn't really want to go looking for them, not right now. Not when she was about to be in the center of a big ass political brouhaha that―fuck _her,_ man. No one was gonna listen if Maggie was in charge. No one would take Maggie seriously unless she started anteing up and making herself known. And even then, Sal was still gonna get on her case and Swank was gonna tease her, and Marjorie―she shook her head. Marjorie wouldn't _care,_ probably.

She rolled her eyes, fluffed her hair, pinched her cheeks, and let a few buttons get miraculously undone before approaching the bodyguard in the metal armor. She'd already forgotten his name. Didn't matter, she was doing this for the King, she had to see it through. She owed him for his company. And his advice.

"Hey, _you,"_ she said, smiling as nicely as she could manage.

"If you're looking for a client, I suggest applying at the Gomorrah," the bodyguard said. "I can't help you. I'm on the job."

Maggie's teeth nearly cracked with the force of her grinding them in her mouth. Fuck this bastard right in the― _assuming she was_ _―_ _?!_

"I'm not a _whore!"_ she hissed, through her teeth. "I was looking for an escort through Freeside! I can see I picked the _wrong person!"_ She huffed and turned away.

"My apologies―" the guard moved forward and intercepted her. "I don't know _what_ I was thinking. I would love to be your guard through Freeside."

Maggie glared at him. "I heard you were the best person to get," she said, coldly. "Obviously you aren't known for your _people_ skills." She crossed her arms under her chest and deliberately squeezed her breasts up into the open. The effect was pathetic, her trying to be sexy with nothing to show off. Didn't exactly lend her a good mood―

Well, it was part of the ruse. She set her eyes on one of the other guards, moodily. "Maybe I should see what the competing rates are," she added.

"I can assure you that _my_ services are necessary and worth the cost," the guard in the metal armor said. "Please, allow me to be your escort. You can pay me when we reach the other side, as an apology."

Maggie allowed herself to look conflicted, then nodded stiffly and frowned at him. _"Fine."_

The guard―Orris―led the way, telling her about the businesses and other places to visit as they moved fast through Freeside. She limped as she tried to keep up, wincing her way through the first set of gates. Orris moved up past the Kings building, then paused and turned to her.

"I don't like the look of this group up ahead," he said. "Let's see if we can find another way."

Maggie nodded, feeling the sting of her heel, and glanced over at the men he spoke of. Boone was leaning against the corner ahead, in between an alley and the Strip gates, and about five men were milling around between the gate and her. She tried to catch Boone's eye before she was hustled down a parallel alley, Orris still moving fast. Didn't know if he noticed her, though.

Something was _wrong_ here. That group of men hadn't been there before, and Orris was directing her into the alley very pointedly. If she hadn't walked through Freeside so many times before, she might not know better―but this didn't feel right. Felt like... a _setup._

"Wait here a sec," Orris said, turning his head back to her. He stopped beside a burnt-out car. "Those guys are waiting for us. I can see them up ahead―"

Maggie huffed and shook her head. "I ain't buying this _bullshit,"_ she muttered, crossing her arms. "What're you trying to pull, you asshole?"

Orris turned around and considered her for a moment. "I'm not sure what you mean, Magdalene," he said, deliberately moving across the road to her and grabbing her wrists up. Her eyes opened wide in alarm―how did he know her full name―and what the _fuck_ was he _doing!?_

She pushed back against him, struggling as he moved her up against a nearby wall. pinning her down. _"Fuck!"_ she said, angrily. "What the _fuck!"_

"Afraid I have to shut down your little ploy," he said, laughing meanly. "See, I heard about you from a mutual acquaintance, and, well..." Maggie's legs kicked out at him, her knee coming up against his crotch―but she only hurt herself on the medal codpiece, slicing her knee open and making her swear louder.

"I was told to give you a message," Orris continued, ignoring her attempts to get free. "Mr. House paid me very handsomely to tell you that he's not gonna wait much longer for you to make up your mind. _'Your continued difficulty in following commands is becoming tiresome,'_ he says, _'and should you not prove your loyalty to me, you will find more than simple intimidation waiting for you.'_ " Orris pushed her into the wall harder, the rough edges of his armor digging into her. Maggie gritted her teeth and made like she was going limp, staring at him angrily.

"Personally, I think he's full of shit, but he paid me too much to argue," Orris said, grinning.

She couldn't fight him off without a free hand or―fucking _hell,_ where _the fuck was Boone?!_ Maggie's legs were free but his armor prevented her from hitting him effectively, and he had her wrists pinned against the bricks, scraping up the back of her hands.

"You think I'm _scared_ of you?" she snarled, glaring at him. _"Please!_ I eat bastards like _you_ for breakfast!" She struggled again, moving a foot up to his knee and trying to put her heel into his calf. It was hard to move with him pressing her into the wall―

Orris chuckled, dropped one hand to her leg and hiked it up over his hip. Maggie drew her hand back immediately and tried to punch him, catching the top of his head. Orris laughed again, pushing her into the wall even harder, keeping her leg up at his waist and grabbing her free hand again.

Shit. _Shit!_ Maggie realized what he was doing as soon as he started breathing heavily on her, turning her head away from the stinking breath. Fucking House―setting up some bastard to try to scare her into playing along―Orris ground into her, painfully jamming his codpiece into her hips.

Wasn't like she'd never been in _that_ situation before. Didn't take that many drinks for a normal man to start acting like a rapist, up on the Strip. Usually Maggie'd had Carla to watch out for her, to keep that sort from being stupid with her silver tongue, but when she was gone, Maggie had weaseled her way out of a few trysts through brute force. A knee to the nuts stopped all but the most determined, and staggered the real tough guys long enough for her to pull a weapon on them.

Those assholes had been wearing plain clothes, though. Not _metal armor_ designed to repel bullets. There was no way in hell she was getting out of this unless she did something she had never had to do, in her _entire_ fucking _life._

Maggie opened her mouth and screamed for help.

Fuck, that was _pathetic,_ having to play the damsel in distress. Orris was laughing and grinding on her, a twisted look on his face, and she closed her eyes against the sight.

 _Thank God the bastard wasn't wearing a fucking helmet―_

Rifle shot. Orris' hands clenched painfully on her wrists. He fell away from her, slowly. Maggie slid down the wall and curled her legs up to her chest, covering them with her arms.

The real fucking shame of it was that the next person who touched her would get a punch in the face.

That person was, of _course,_ Boone.

* * *

"I ain't sorry," she said, staring at Boone over the table in the Kings building.

"I wasn't asking you to be," he said, staring at the Kings member on the stage. A bruise was spreading across his cheekbone, starting a funny shade of purple and turning black in the center. Her hand still hurt from the impact. Boone didn't give her a clue as to what he was thinking, just stared expressionlessly at the stage. _Guess he's alright, then,_ she thought. _Acting normal, anyway._

Maggie looked up at the King, as he walked through the room to his table. She stood and went to join him, pulling over a chair. "So I dealt with your bodyguard _problem,"_ she said, grumpily.

"I heard," King said. He sounded angry. She couldn't recall ever hearing him like that. It was a bit intimidating. Maggie looked down at the back of her hands and rubbed the scrapes she'd gotten, frowning.

"This man, the dead one," King said, drawing out his funny accent. "He was paid by Mr. House to make you behave?"

"That's what he said." Maggie sighed and lowered her hands to her lap, looking down at her knee where it was busted open. "House ain't trusted me since Nero died. I guess getting the Omerta boss killed and putting my dad in charge was a bad idea."

King sighed. "I know you didn't mean for it to go that way," he said, "but it does look bad. Can't imagine what I would think, had it happened to me."

"Should I play along with House?" she wondered, to herself. That jackass Orris used fancy words like House would have. There was no doubt in her mind that House really _had_ paid him to mess with her, knowing she'd probably kill the man. He didn't care about one person in the sea of many that made up his plan―his plan to make Vegas better.

Why he didn't just find someone else to drag along this master plan, she'd never figure out. House had the caps to bring that chip all the way from the west. And she knew Benny had set it up for her to actually get the chip, even though she'd been told it was random, who got what. So she was the one what brought it to him, so he could kill her.

Otherwise, Benny's whole plan to get the chip and put Yes Man in the computer at the Lucky 38 was all for shit. She knew Benny wasn't gonna let that happen. He put a lot of work into that Securitron, too much to let it go to waste. Too much work to get her where he wanted, too.

"I can't say," King said, turning in his seat to look at her. "You go with him, he might think you're just playin', anyway. Hard to gain back trust already lost."

Maggie grumbled. "Don't I _know_ it." She rubbed her face with both hands, and shot a glance at Boone.

"That the one you were talkin' about?" King asked, without looking.

Maggie snorted. "...Yeah."

"Well," King said. His mouth twitched. "Can't believe you turned down the King for a fella with such an ugly mug."

She growled under her breath. "Fuck you, King," she muttered. "Ain't like I _expected_ it."

He pursed his mouth and then smiled that funny half-smile of his at her. "That's love for ya," he said. He put out a hand and patted hers, on top of the table. "Now listen, Mag. I'll have the boys watchin' out for you down here in Freeside, but I can't do much more than that."

"Thanks," she said, dejectedly. "...I guess I ought to go do that thing with the Brotherhood of Steel. 'Least then he won't be sending no one out after me."

"Keep your man at your side, you hear?" King looked over at Boone and nodded to him. Boone ignored them both. "Be _safe,_ now."

"I will." Maggie stood up and limped away from the table. "C'mon, Boone," she practically whispered, and walked out of the building.

"We're gonna make a trip south," she told him, after they were outside. She started working her way out of Freeside.

"Not gonna change into your armor?" Boone kept her pace, walking behind her a little too close.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Maggie replied, setting her face grimly. _"It really doesn't."_


	30. My Heart Trusted

**EDIT:** I noticed a MAJOR error and that is why I pulled all stops on GATG! I'm sorry!

* * *

Maggie didn't say a single word to Boone after that, not until they were well away from Freeside. She stopped and looked out over the ruined houses that dotted the landscape, south of the sharecropper's farms. Her throat was dry and her hands shaky, her stomach rebelling against her.

"Maggie," Boone said, more of a question than anything else. She didn't look at him right away, blinking the tiredness out of her eyes, staring out at what used to be Vegas. Boone waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, watching her.

Finally she turned to him and stared at him. "What?" she asked.

"You okay?" he asked, looking concerned. "That asshole didn't―"

She shrugged, and turned away. "That shit doesn't bother me. I'm _fine,_ Boone."

It wasn't until they got down to the Aerotech place that Boone pushed the issue. He walked up behind her as she stood outside the door, staring up at the pedestrian sign, and put a hand on her shoulder. Maggie flinched, jerking away.

"You're not _fine,"_ Boone said, angrily. "You're never this quiet. Talk to me, Maggie. Tell me what's wrong."

She stared at him for a minute, her heart beating a thousand per second in panic, before she sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I..." she sighed again. "I was just thinking, is all."

"About what," Boone prompted. He put his hand back on her shoulder and drew his brow together, concerned.

"About family," she said, feeling guilty.

"Maggie," Boone said, pulling her closer to him.

"It's not what you think," she said, stammering a little. "It's not _Carla."_ She looked back at the refugee park. "...Where were you born, Boone?"

He looked up at the door and back at her. "...New California. Why?"

"I was born _here,"_ Maggie said, pushing his hand off her shoulder. "My mom said I didn't want to come into the world. Carla shot out like a rocket but I was always a grumpy little shit, even as a baby." She breathed out a chuckle. "And mom was... mom was always so damn cheerful. Sometimes I wondered if I really _was_ her kid. Wished I wasn't."

"You're definitely Carla's sister," he said, gently.

"...I _know."_ She scoffed. "But back _then,_ things were a lot different." Maggie moved forward. "Things were―"

She opened the door the to Aerotech park and walked inside, stopping almost immediately.

 _"―insane,"_ she finished, staring up at the fountain in the middle of the park.

* * *

 _"Fix that goddamn wall!"_ someone yelled, over the sounds of fire and gunshots. "I don't care if you _fucking get shot!_ You don't get that wall back up― _we're all fucked!"_

Screaming tore through the air, cracking sounds of gunfire and the explosions around them―the wall was down, pulled away by a team of Brahmin and men deliberately trying to get into the camp―

Dust rose up around them in huge clouds, stirred up by the explosions of a volley of grenades, thrown through the hole to cause chaos―the sun beat down on everyone, burning hot through the dust as the Slither Kin scrambled for cover, for more ammo, for safety―

"Magdalene, Carla, _come!"_ Someone hustled them toward a building, through the rubble and dust and the slicing of bullets through the air. Mag covered her head and shrieked in pain as a round tore into her leg, falling to to the rocky ground and bouncing―

 _"Mag!"_ Carla grabbed her around the shoulder and started to pull her away from the fountain, her dusty face lined with clean trails where tears had streamed out. "C'mon, Mag, _please!"_

She felt the pain, she cried, she couldn't help it. Didn't _want_ to cry―Carla helped her up onto her feet and started taking her away from the middle of the camp and toward the sleeping place―

"Let's go, children," her mom said calmly, picking Mag up around the waist and moving fast over the rubble. Mag couldn't see her face through the dust and fear and crying―

A louder explosion tore into the ground ahead of them, and Carla was screaming now― _Carla,_ who _never_ panicked―Mag's heart pounded _crazy fast―_

Her mom stopped and bent down onto her knees, cradling Mag to her chest, huddling the three of them together against the wall of the sleeping place, shielding the girls with her body.

She was praying. In the middle of the chaos-stricken camp, she dropped to her knees and _prayed,_ her voice clear to the Carla and Mag, soft-spoken and strong.

 _"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him."_

Mag wiped her face and watched her mom speaking, eyes as wide as they'd ever been―how could she pray like _that,_ now! _"Mom,"_ she cried, "we have to get _inside―"_ She grabbed at her hands, together in front of her, pulling at her. _"Mom!"_

 _"The Lord is their strength, and he is the saving strength of his anointed. Save thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up for ever."_ Carlotta stood, smiling down on her daughters. Mag's heart nearly burst in panic, seeing the men coming up behind her―the Rough Riders in their black leather―

It almost happened in slow motion. One of the Rough Riders lifted up a fire axe and brought it down, lodging it into Carlotta's chest as she turned to face him. Another, laughing terribly, was reaching out for Carla, who shrieked again and raised her hands up in a double fist to slam into him. Mag stared without looking away, watching her mother falling forward onto her, her mouth open in a silent scream. Carlotta's body fell across her, pinning her to the ground as Carla was screaming and being pulled away by one of the Rough Riders.

Sal showed up then, like a miracle, and shot every last one of the Riders. Carla ran to Mag, freeing herself from the man who tried to carry her off, and her face was contorted into an ugly grimace of fear and grief―

 _"Magdalene,"_ her mom said. "Do not cry. I will go ahead to Galilee, and wait for you there―" She coughed and blood streamed from her mouth, splattering Mag.

"No!" Mag yelled, her eyes filling with tears. _"No!"_

"Have _faith..._ and make yourself... firm, childr..." Sal pulled the body from Mag's, lifting her up with one arm and dragging Carla away, too―

* * *

"Maggie?" someone was saying. She jerked out of the memory, blinking roughly. She frowned.

"Maggie," Boone said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and turning her to face him. _"Hey."_

She wiped her face and realized she had been crying. Used the hem of her skirt to clean it off, then sighed. "Bad memories," she muttered. "Don't know _why_ I came here."

Boone moved her to a nearby bench and sat her down, sitting beside her and holding her gently. "I know bad memories," he said, quietly. He rubbed her shoulder, and she leaned into him, closing her eyes. "Have more than enough."

"My mom died here," she mumbled. "I _watched_ her die―" Boone squeezed her, and Maggie stared at the fountain again. "She was taken from the desert, after the Kin killed all her people, and she didn't want to _be_ here―"

She remembered back then. It was do as you wanted, but _always_ protect the Family―

* * *

"Don't look now, Mag, but you've caught someone's eye," Carla was saying. Maggie stared down at the bottle in her hands, ignoring her. It was supposed to be water, but Carla had sneaked around and brought her some kind of booze. She didn't know if she was supposed to drink it.

Sal might not like it if she got drunk, even at a celebration. Mag didn't feel like being tied up by her feet on a wall again and beaten. She closed her eyes against the thought.

The Kin was celebrating victory against the Rough Riders. They'd finally made good in their revenge for the attacks on the camp. Years upon years of fighting, and they'd managed to run the Riders off into the ruins of Vegas, where the robots were. It was certain the robots would kill them all, and now the Kin was free to roam the desert―so long as the cannibals didn't catch them, or the Khans didn't come wanting what they had.

It didn't feel much like _victory_ to Mag. She stared at her bottle of booze and tried not to think about all the stuff that had happened, losing―losing their mom, having no one but each other, being stuck with _Sal―_

Stuck with Sal for _six years._ It felt like a lot longer, really.

"Hey," someone said, and Mag looked up into the face of _him._ She flushed and looked back down as he sat down beside them on the bench, talking to Carla.

Carla didn't like him much, and shot him down. He was asking her to―Mag didn't want to _hear_ that. She'd... she'd watched him from a distance for a long time, and _never_ hoped he would talk to her―but here he was, and her heart was beating so fast in her chest―

Son of the Kin boss, with his red hair the same color as hers and those deep brown eyes, so _handsome,_ so _brave._ He must have been ten years older than both of them. Led the Kin into battle against the Riders, chased them into the robot ruins. He was strong and he made Mag feel like she was going to _melt,_ inside.

"Drink up, girls," he said, holding up his own and toasting to their health.

Mag _had_ to drink. Didn't want him to think she was being rude. She didn't remember much about what happened next, after she drank the entire bottle in one go―but Carla _told_ her about it later―

Mag woke the next morning, staring up into the darkness of the sleeping place, feeling the pain in her head and the dizziness, and the warm arm that was wrapped around her. The arm attached to a hand that was touching her like she'd _never_ been touched―like she'd always _dreamed―_

She was _his,_ then.

And she wouldn't belong to anyone else, _ever―_

* * *

Maggie was crying on Boone's shoulder again, pathetically. He didn't say a word, just held her there, rubbing her side and letting her cry.

"I'm being _stupid,"_ she mumbled, trying to stop herself.

"It's not stupid," Boone said.

"My mom never wanted to be here," she said. "Sal _made_ her have his kids―"

Boone sighed, rubbed her arm. "You can't blame yourself for that."

"I was the reason she didn't have any more," Maggie said, sniffling. "I guess she... just _couldn't."_

"Probably a good thing, then," Boone said, his mouth twitching. "I don't think the world could handle any more Maggies."

"You're mean," she mumbled. "I'm trying to tell you something important, and you're being an asshole." She moved away from him, letting her hands drop to her lap and staring at her knees.

"Listen, Maggie―" Boone turned to face her, and reached out to hold her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Whatever you need to say, you _say_ _it._ I'll listen."

Maggie stared at him for a little while, trying to figure out if she could―it was all bad memory, something she'd forgotten all about until now―

"When I was a kid, the Kin did what they wanted," she said, slowly. "As long as it didn't hurt the Family." She wiped her nose again. "We lived here in the park, and some of the houses outside. The walls were a lot further out, then."

She stared up at the walls of the office park and remembered how much territory the Kin had actually covered. Back then, Nero wasn't in charge―but he was always fighting off the Riders or the Khans and he'd rescued Carla once from the cannibals. She... didn't want to remember that. Not right now.

"Nero _protected_ us," she said. "From everything. Sal must have, too, but I never saw it. I only had eyes for Nero."

Boone lowered his arms and watched her. Maggie stared at her hands, picking nervously at her skirt. "Maggie," he said, softly. "It's okay to miss him."

"Not _really,"_ she said. "I promised I would never love anyone else, and that promise is getting really hard to keep."

The wind swept over them, kicking up rocks and dust into their faces. Boone didn't say a word, just watched her as she shuffled nervously on the bench. Eventually she sighed and rubbed her face, and looked over at him.

"What happened back there..." She shrugged. _"Thanks._ For rescuing me. If he hadn't been wearing that armor I would've been able to take him down by myself."

"I'm not gonna let you get hurt, Maggie," he said, his voice rough. "If you need help, you ask. I'll be there."

She remembered the Nipton town hall and how he'd come to her "rescue" then. How awkward things had been between them. How shaky he'd been, how angry she'd been after finding out he'd killed Carla. Kind of felt like all that rage was gone, now. For the first time since Nero died, she felt―

She felt _scared._ Maggie didn't like being scared.

Was she scared of _House?_ Doubted that he told Orris to do all that he did. Probably just told him to rough her up and deliver the message. Maggie pushed her hair out of her face. House thought she was a threat and she _had_ to get him out of Vegas, or he would send one of his Securitrons to take her down―

If she didn't get killed by the Legion, or by whatever monsters were out here in the wastes, first. Benny had known a long time ago that things were getting serious in the Mojave, but he'd never told her anything. Just planned for his own future and left her in the lurch―like _everyone_ always had, Carla included. Even if she'd never meant to.

"I'm not very good with words," she said, looking up at the fountain. "I don't know what to do with this political stuff. Never had to worry, before, that someone might try to kill me. ...I wasn't _important._ I just did what I was _told."_

Boone nodded, staring up at the fountain with her. _"Yeah,"_ he said. She glanced over at him and saw how guarded he was. Like he'd been before, before she'd opened up to him on the highway, before all the stupid shit between them in Vegas.

"Guess that's what it's like being a soldier, huh," she said, feeling tired.

"You do a lot of things because you're told to, in the army," he said, his voice serious. "Sometimes you don't understand why."

"I feel like that right _now,"_ she said, and moved herself closer to him. Boone turned to look at her, and she could tell there was something his mind. "What's the matter, Boone?"

He breathed out and stared up at the fountain again.

"Maggie, I'm a murderer," he said, his voice so deadly serious that it sent a shiver down her spine.


	31. Anointed

"What do you mean, a murderer."

He stared at her for a moment, and she was forced to look away. Looked at her hands for a long time, because she didn't want to meet his eyes. That weird conflicted look he had _before_ ―he still had it, but now it wasn't because he was confusing her for Carla, it was because he was trying to say―

To say _what?_ Something about war? She knew war. Kin and Khan and Rider and cannibal, even those newcomer Fiends, they all fought like hell. It wasn't something that she _couldn't_ understand, after watching her mother die in front of her very eyes. After growing up out in the wastes like she had, and knowing that her life was one chop away from death at _all_ times.

"A lot of people died," Boone said slowly, "people who didn't need to die, because of me."

"When you were―in the army?" she asked, not looking up.

"Yeah." Boone shifted his legs and turned away from her. "When I was at Bitter Springs."

She looked through her memory, trying to think of what he was talking about. "Wait," she said, screwing up her face. "You mean, that refugee camp up in the hills?"

He nodded, stiffly. Maggie squinted her eyes and tried to remember what Mister New Vegas had said on the radio. "It's a NCR camp, isn't it?"

"Used to be Khans," he said, quietly.

 _Oh,_ she remembered now. Back in the day, when Vegas was starting up, and the Riders had come out of the Strip with Benny in charge, and―and the Kin leader was killed, leaving Nero to step up. Nero negotiated with the Riders, heard them out. No one liked that, but Nero explained it to the Family in private. It was the start of something _wonderful―_

New Vegas. Their own city, with their _own_ turf and their _own_ rule, and so long as they paid the big man his share, no one could mess with them. No more fighting between the Families. Well, not _much,_ anyway.

Maggie remembered the war parties led out against the Khans, when New Vegas was established. Drove the Khans out of North Vegas and into the hands of the NCR, where they were massacred. Nero said it was because they needed someone to be a distraction, to keep the NCR busy while the Family built up the Strip and made it work. Khans were picked because there wasn't enough room for all the tribes on the Strip and because―because Nero _hated_ the Khans. More than the Riders, more than the cannibals. More than anyone ever, really.

Maggie never understood why he hated them so badly. Now she would _never_ know.

The Khans were driven like cattle into the hands of the NCR, who fought with them. The Families were in the clear to back away and focus on New Vegas. Maggie never had much to do with it. All she'd ever heard came from Nero himself, hearing him talk about politics―

That was to be expected. Maggie hadn't been important, but Nero could trust her with his plans because she was devoted to him. Omerta was blood, and blood was _silence._

* * *

"This is a mess," he said, scratching his hair. "Need a trim."

"I'll do it," Mag said, standing behind him at the mirror. It was cracked, but it only reflected what she wanted to see―him, half-naked in a bathroom, cleaned of the blood and gore he'd had to spill. He glanced at her in the mirror and she felt the blood rising in her cheeks. Every time he _looked_ at her.

"Go on, then," he said, waving her away.

Mag found a pair of scissors and a straight edge, and came back to see him looking at himself in the mirror again, a chair pushed into the corner. He pulled it in front of the sink and sat down, and motioned for her to start cutting.

She was nervous, being so close to him. Hadn't―hadn't had many chances to be _around_ him, lately. Hadn't had many chances _to_ ―she flushed deeper. He was _wonderful. Too wonderful_ for her; every time he'd left the Strip to fight the Khans, she thought she would _never_ see him again―and she'd bawled every single time he came back, because she was so _happy._

"You messed up the front," he said, looking at it later. Mag's face flooded with blood and she covered her face, feeling shamed. A whimper escaped her lips and she was so _embarrassed,_ she couldn't stand it―

He looked back at her, and cupped her cheek, pulling her hands away. "Maggie," he said, smiling. "Don't be like that. Watch."

He pulled the longer hair away from his face, snipped a bit off the end, then brushed it back in a sweeping motion. A little bit of combing made it into a pouf on the front of his head.

Oh―it looked _great!_ He was so _good_ at making things _perfect_ ―even screw-ups like _Mag_ ―she blushed again.

Later, after she was lying in bed with him and looking at the scars he'd gotten from years of fighting, he told her about the plan. The plan he would work on for ten years after that night, the plan he said was for her and for him. For them, _forever―_

When she was thirteen, it hadn't felt real. Every year that passed it became more and more, until one day she realized she had _always_ believed it was a good plan.

Nero bragged to her when the NCR took the Khans down like that. She remembered now. He had been impressed with the maneuver, but Mag had only thought about how many times the other Families had done that to them, when they were Kin. And he'd gone on and on about how the Khans _deserved_ it, how they needed to be taken out completely _because..._

"After we've got Vegas," he said, "we'll be needing a lot more space, _won't_ we, Maggie?"

* * *

"NCR swamped the Khans," Maggie said. She turned her head to Boone and looked at him. "Lured out Papa Khan and his war party and struck at their feet, killed the young and the old and the weak."

Boone's jaw clenched. "Yeah," he said, his voice fading.

She stared at him for a long time. "You were _there,"_ she said, almost awed. _"You_ did that."

He sighed and looked down at his hands, holding them out in front of him. Maggie could almost imagine blood dripping from his fingers, puddling on the ground. But, no, he was a sniper. He would have shot them all from a distance―

 _Like Carla._

"Damn," she swore. "I'm sorry. I didn't _mean―"_

"Wasn't your fault," he said, shakily. "It was before Carla, even."

Maggie scooted herself closer to him and grabbed one of his hands, staring up at the fountain again, holding it without saying a word. They sat like that for a long time, saying nothing, until Boone shifted position and stared out over her head.

"I couldn't tell Carla," he said. "I was afraid to. She... she wouldn't have understood."

"I think she'd have understood more than you think," Maggie said, her eyes scraping the blue of the sky. "Carla was pretty damn _tough."_

Boone closed his eyes and breathed out onto her hair, mussing it. Maggie grumbled and released him so she could fix it. She stood up and stretched her legs out, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at Boone.

"Alright, so," she said, turning her waist from side to side. "What you wanna do."

"You're the boss," he said.

 _"No,_ we're a _team,"_ she said, firmly. "We get shit _done._ And I don't know about you, but I want to stop thinking about that bastard House for a little while. I ain't never been up past Lake Mead. You wanna go?"

He stared at her, his mouth slightly open. "...To Bitter Springs?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Why not? Radio says they need help in a real bad way." Maggie shrugged. "Maybe we could do some good." Boone didn't reply.

Maggie pursed her lips and thought about it for a minute. She didn't know what to say. Finally, she gave up on trying to figure it out. "I'm gonna go see the boss and find us some chores, okay? I'll be back in a minute."

He looked away, his face set into a grim look. Maggie sighed internally and walked off to find the person in charge of Aerotech. Wasn't much she _could_ do for him. Not... not something that a hug or two would help.

Carla used to call the place Alley-Oop. Aerotech office park was the community center where the wives and children of the higher ranking Kin could sleep indoors, where the Kin had parties and where the Riders had killed Carlotta―and when Nero moved them all to the Strip, he locked it up tight.

Alley-Oop didn't reopen for a few years, when the NCR started squatting in it, using it as a refugee area. By then Nero had no claim on it, and didn't care. And Maggie... well, she didn't _want_ to remember. She'd forgotten her mom when she met him. It was _easier_ that way.

Maggie stared at Captain Parker for a few minutes before she bothered to talk to him, lost in her own head. He gave her something to do that wasn't gonna make Boone get moody, and she saluted as she walked away. _Hell,_ missing people seemed like a cakewalk compared to the shit in _Vegas_ right now. She wouldn't mind the bit of walking about, either... she snorted at herself. Legs were getting stronger, or she was ignoring the pain. _Ah, well._

"C'mon," she said, grabbing Boone by the ear and tugging gently. "Let's walk up to Westside." Boone nodded and followed, without a word.

* * *

She'd never been in Westside, since the Strip was up and running. It was actually pretty amazing, how the place was set up, how the people worked to help each other. _Kind of restores your faith in humanity_ ―she laughed at herself. _Yeah, maybe not._ She knew better than that. People never changed.

Maggie looked around for a few minutes before she came to screeching halt in front of something called "Meansonofabish". There were no words at first, just Maggie staring up at this enormous green thing with a look of incredulity on her face like a little girl, amazed and terrified at the same time. He was so damn― _huge!_

"Holy _hell!"_ she whispered, staring up at the Super Mutant. She'd never _seen_ one, before. There were rumors, but―

This one, his tongue was gone. He couldn't talk right. Maggie spent twenty minutes trying to coerce him into saying something other than the hello he gave, before giving up in disappointment. Damn, and he was _so_ _cool!_ She grinned to herself.

"I heard there's supposed to be a big town of them, somewhere out here," she said, to Boone. "Maybe we could go check it out, next." It was exciting, to think about. More awesome―mutants, like that one? Ones who could actually _talk?_

He didn't reply. Was staring off into the distance, still thinking about― _hell,_ probably still thinking about the thing with Bitter Springs. She ignored him, for now. _Let him figure it out on his own, or whatever. I dunno what to do._

Tracked down the men Parker mentioned, found something was up. Maggie checked out the apartments and got sidetracked while talking to some old whore―the woman was tough, regardless of her profession and age―and walked out of there smiling.

But there was that business with the missing refugees. And that fucking teddy bear. Maggie's smile disappeared.

"Do you think the Legion will ever be gone from the Mojave?" she asked Boone, staring out into the wastes, through the cracks in Westside's defenses.

Boone turned, his leather creaking loudly with the quick motion, and pulled her into a hug, wrapping himself around her and shuddering. Maggie let out a startled squeak, trying to push him away and blinking in surprise. "Maggie―" he muffled out, breathing hard onto her neck.

"Boone?" she asked, eyebrow raised and looking at him from the corner of her eye. "Are you _okay,_ man?"

"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his nose into her neck and making her legs go weak. "I'm just... I'm fine."

"You'd better― _ah!"_ she went limp, falling a little. Boone caught her, holding her up. "You'd better knock _that_ off," she said, trying to put a hand between his mouth and her neck and failing. "You _know_ better."

"I think I should go to Bitter Springs," he said, slowly. He didn't let her go, just held her with shaking arms and breathed a little faster.

"You think it'll help?" Maggie put her hands on his shoulders. "You seemed pretty _upset_ ―I mean, I didn't want to _push_ you or nothing―"

"It might," he said. "Thank you, Maggie."

"For what?" she rubbed his shoulder, lightly. "I ain't done nothing."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Thanks for _that."_

She was confused, but managed to scrape him off of her and push him away. "Okay?" she said, cautiously.

"You didn't tell me to leave," he said, staring at her. "Or get angry at me."

 _"Why―"_ Maggie sighed and rubbed her neck. "Dammit, I wish you hadn't _done_ that." She shot him a mean look.

He wasn't smiling, but he didn't seem unhappy. Maggie turned around and moved on, looking for the assholes―the assholes selling people to the Legion from the refugee camp―

She didn't say a word to Boone, just walked up and swung out her shotgun in a smooth move. She pressed the barrel into the face of the asshole in the policeman hat and shoved him backward. "I _know_ what you were up to," she said, angrily. "And I ain't _having that,_ motherfucker."

She pulled the trigger.

Sometimes... sometimes you _had_ to murder people. It was only murder in your own head, when you _knew_ they'd done something so fucking horrible it was intolerable. Her hand tightened on the teddy bear, staring down at the corpses.

"C'mon, Boone," she said, stuffing the teddy bear away and waving him out of Westside. "We got some more good things to do today."

 _But sometimes,_ she thought, _it's not so easy to tell if what you know is right―or if what you've done is the good thing to do._

Maggie sighed and rubbed her forehead as they left Westside.


	32. The Ghost of Lake Mead

Note: For starrysky ;) more of those adorable Maggie moments.

(Sorry I haven't posted, husband got Fallout 4 and I'm the family location scout, so I'm on doubletime to find places for people. I'm really good at finding stuff)

* * *

Maggie was walking along the shore of Lake Mead, twirling her shotgun and pretending to shoot things, and staring out over the water and land. Reminded him of a kid; she seemed to be enjoying herself, her mouth twitching up into a smile as she swung the shotgun out and made "pow-pow" noises at a Joshua tree.

Boone followed behind her, one hand on his rifle strap and the other loose at his side. He hadn't said much to her on the way around Vegas and out to Camp Golf. Hadn't felt like he should say anything. Maggie was capable of entertaining herself just fine. He was just there to watch her ass.

It _was_ a really nice ass, though. Boone smiled, thinking about how flustered she'd been when he mentioned that scar of hers.

She still hadn't changed out of the green dress she'd worn in Freeside. He admitted to himself he wasn't looking for danger like he ought to be. It was... he chuckled to himself. It was every _bit_ as ridiculous as he'd thought it would be.

Maggie, in a dress, walking 'round the wasteland. Hips swaying jauntily, unbuttoned top fluttering in the wind. The skirt flipping up every once and a while, showing off her upper thighs with their smooth skin and firm muscles.

It was enough to make his mouth go dry and his hands twitch. _God,_ he wanted to touch her.

Maggie stopped and looked out over the water for a moment, shielding her eyes from the sun, then a wicked smile spread across her face. "You remember when you went down to get that airplane?" she grinned back at him. "I've never seen you move so fast."

"...Could have waited to set off the ballast," he muttered, looking away. "Damn near killed me." She hadn't been very apologetic about it, either; it had annoyed him how cavalier she was, about everything―

"Ah, you were fine," Maggie said, laughing. She turned out to the water. Her voice grew more serious. "I would have done it, you know. Can't swim. I never got taught."

Boone moved up closer to her, looking out over Lake Mead with her. "You should learn. Could teach you."

She made a dismissive noise. "I ain't going in there," she growled. "I ain't _that_ stupid!"

"I didn't say you were," Boone said, and watched her walking away. His hand tightened on the rifle strap.

She hadn't pushed him away, when he told her about Bitter Springs. She hadn't really reacted, at all. She was impressed at one point, but she didn't keep the idea. He didn't know why she would be impressed. He... really, he didn't want to know. Didn't want to think about Bitter Springs, at all.

But she was making him go there, again. By saying she wanted to go, and he―Boone swore under his breath. He would go anywhere, if she wanted it. He _knew_ he would. If he didn't go with her―she'd go by herself, and he would be kicking his own ass three ways to Sunday if something were to happen to her―

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Reminded himself that Maggie was too tough to die. Even having been shot in the head... shot in the head like all those people he'd murdered.

Didn't know what he would find there. Didn't want to think about it. Maybe he _should_ be thinking about what happened, but, dammit... he'd been pushing back the memories for too long, and grappled with the guilt when he had to remember.

A murderer was still a murderer, no matter what good deeds he did. No matter how much he wished he could undo the murder. And he'd get what was coming for him.

Boone watched Maggie walking down the shore. Those hips swaying again―kept wondering what karma would bring him, for her being around. What kind of shit karma would heap upon him next, for having this... good thing, with her. Or what would happen to her, if he didn't let her go.

Didn't want to think about _that,_ either.

Boone looked up over the road into the mountains. Stared blankly into the distance, listening to Maggie's low voice as she cursed the mud she was stepping in, hearing the soft sucking of the ground as it pulled at her shoes.

An aural burst passed by his head. Boone blinked and pulled his rifle, scanning the area. "Maggie," he called, "there's something here―" She stopped and looked back at him, frowning. Opened her mouth to say something.

Another burst hit Maggie right in the head and she reeled to the side, stumbling into the water. Boone's rifle swung around and located the target―Lakelurk―remembered the things were sometimes a pest at Camp Golf, being as close to the water as it was. He fired until the monster fell, then turned to see where Maggie had fallen.

Couldn't find her― _shit,_ she must have―

He tossed his rifle to the side and dove into the water.

* * *

She threw up water for about ten minutes, before Boone carried her down the shore to a little shack. Laid her down in the bed and pulled a chair over to the side, sitting down and staring at her.

Maggie, soaked through, looking pathetic, coughing up water and whatever she'd had for her last meal, wasn't saying a word. After a few minutes of coughing, she turned onto her side and faced the wall, closing her eyes.

"Hey," he said, putting a hand on her arm. "You―"

"Lemme _'lone,"_ she mumbled, flicking at his hand.

"You probably shouldn't go to sleep―" he moved away. "Not 'til we know you're okay."

"I'm _okay,"_ she mumbled, and curled up into a ball. "Lemme _'lone,_ jerk."

He sighed. She _sounded_ okay. When he'd pulled her out of the water, she hadn't been breathing and he was sure he'd crushed her ribs with his compressions... but she was alive, at least. Boone sat back in the chair and stared at her, wet and shivering in the darkness of the shack.

After a moment or two, he stood up and stripped off his own wet armor, laying it out on a table, then moved to the bed and started unbuttoning her dress. Maggie was immediately alert, her fingernails digging into his wrist, staring angrily up at him.

"The _fuck_ are you doing," she hissed.

"You're wet," he said, as calmly as he could. "You need to dry your clothes. You'll catch a cold."

"I ain't _dead―"_ she pushed his hand away, glaring at him. "I'll do it myself."

He watched her peel off the wet fabric and took it when she handed it over, laying it on the back of the chair. Maggie curled up on her side again, pressing her face down into the mattress and shivering.

Well... he'd _wanted to,_ earlier. Boone hid a smile and laid down behind her, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close. "For warmth," he said, before she could protest.

"Yeah, _okay,"_ she said, shivering again. "It's pretty goddamn _cold_ in here."

He laid there with her for a long time before he felt her hands start to warm up, rubbing her knuckles with his fingertips and saying absolutely nothing. Maggie didn't complain, but kept her eyes closed and faced the wall. It nice, to just be together. To... to touch her without any intent. He hated to ruin the moment, but he had to.

"I think you ought to stay away from the water, from here on out," he said, quietly. "You don't have a good reputation around lakes."

"Yeah," she muttered. She turned slightly. "I _will_ haunt your ass if I drown, you know."

"Don't think I'd mind that," he said, chuckling a little. "Nicest-looking ghost I ever saw."

She groaned. "I come back as a ghost, I wanna be one of those ones what drip blood on walls and make awful noises! Not them _wussy_ ones that just float around and _shit."_

Boone smiled, moving a hand to touch her face. "You can haunt me anytime," he said, "even _if_ you're dripping blood on me."

Maggie didn't reply right away, but stared at the wall. She turned over on her back and looked at him, frowning. "...Boone," she said, her mouth screwed up. "Why do you hang around with me?"

He stared at her for a moment, then smiled. "Maggie," he said, holding her shoulder. "You know why."

"Maybe I want to hear you _say_ it, jerk," she huffed, and started to turn around again.

He caught her and pulled her back, pulling her head to his chest in a hug. "You're _mean,"_ he said, chuckling into her wet hair. "And you swear too much, and you're always hitting me."

 _"I'm_ mean, huh?" she growled, digging her nails into his bicep. "You're crushing my head, you _jerk!"_

"But," he continued, even though she was hurting him, "I like you. You're tough. You hate the right kind of people, and you... you have a good heart, somewhere in there." He rubbed her hair gently, staring at the wall. "I think it's probably really tiny, but it's in there. _Somewhere."_

Maggie didn't say anything. Moved her hand away from his arm and laid it on his side. She made a funny noise, coughing a little, and he realized she was quietly crying.

"Maggie," he said, softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she said, defensively. "I'm just―I'm _trying_ to do better, but I'm such a fucking _moron_ and―and you're right, I'm too damn _mean―"_

Boone smiled and rubbed her hair. "I still like you, though."

"Probably the only person in the world who wants to put up with me." She moved her hand and wiped her nose messily. "Last two times―" her voice trailed off. "But everyone keeps trying to kill me. Even _you―"_

"I didn't―" he said, knowing what she meant. He felt the fear again, the shaking hands and panic at knowing he'd almost shot her. He still―he still saw Carla, in his scope, sometimes. But he would never aim his rifle at Maggie. Never again.

"You almost _did,"_ she muttered. "Probably _should've_ shot me. Things would be way easier."

Boone sighed and tightened his grip on her. He was a murderer, even if he tried to do good. Wouldn't find anything in Bitter Springs but painful memories. Pain, and it would all come rushing back to him, the doubt and the moral sickness he'd felt when First Recon received their orders.

If he _had_ shot Maggie―he would have killed himself. Even if he didn't know she was Carla's sister. It would have been one more murder on his list. One more reason to find a quiet corner of the wasteland and end it all. One more reason to walk into a Legion camp and unload on them and get himself killed.

Like he had when Maggie went missing at the Cove, but without her to save his ass from crucifixion.

Boone felt her heartbeat under his fingers, beating hard. She moved her hand away from his side, pulling away from him. He squeezed her tighter, and breathed out on her hair. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he whispered. "I'm sorry I almost shot you. I'm sorry for everything I've done to you."

She rubbed her forehead against him, and breathed out. "Maybe I can't die," she said, dully. "Feels like every time it happens, I turn up fresh as daisies."

"Even if that's the case, you shouldn't go looking for―" Boone sighed. "I've... I've been looking for death, ever since..." He took a deep breath. "Since Carla."

"I'm sorry it happened," Maggie said. She rubbed his arm, laid against her neck. "It wouldn't have been any better if she came home, though. She wanted to come home―but she would have died, _anyway."_

He rubbed her hair absently, staring at the wall. "I know." And Maggie was living her guilt for that, knowing that she had blamed Carla for her own problems. He understood the guilt.

"If Nero found out about her coming home, he would have done the same thing the Legion was gonna." Maggie coughed a little. "Better you be able to help her, like you did."

"Maybe." He moved his arm away from her and scooted backward on the bed. "Are you warm now?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her hands together.

Boone went to sit up, to get out of the bed. Maggie reached out and stopped him, thin fingers on his arm. "You don't _have_ to get up," she said, her cheeks a little red. "I mean, _I_ ―I'll just get cold _again,_ if you do."

He stared back at her for a moment, looking at her shifty eyes and reddened cheeks. She was flustered, her eyes wet with tears and face burning. She... wanted him to hold her. But on _her_ terms. Everything that had happened before―every bad decision he'd made and every time he'd pushed her into doing what he wanted―she was trying to look past it.

 _She promised she wouldn't love anyone else,_ he told himself. _But she also said it was getting hard to keep that promise._

Maybe Maggie did love him, but couldn't admit it to herself. Maybe she didn't want to because he'd messed it all up from the beginning―and now it was ten times harder for either one of them to admit there was something there. But she wasn't pushing him away, anymore. She was inviting him to touch her.

It was a start. He smiled gently, grabbed her hand up in his, and laid himself back onto the mattress. "You want a _hug?"_ he teased.

"Whatever!" Maggie snapped. "I really _hate_ being cold! Stop being a jerk and help keep me warm!" She unraveled her fingers from his and shook a fist at him.

"Alright, Maggie," he said, grinning, as he wrapped her back up in his arms. "I'll hug you, if that's what you _want."_

"If I catch a cold and die, I'm totally fucking _haunting_ your ass," she growled. "Blood dripping and everything. You're gonna _get_ yours, jerk."

"...Promise?"


	33. I Really Do

Note: Starting to lost patience with Fallout 4 so you guys are in luck, I'm not gonna have delays for new chapters. (I really, _really_ don't like Boston, not one damn bit)

* * *

"You think you're so big and bad," she muttered, aiming her gun and puffing out a breath of air. "See who's the fucking _boss,_ won't we."

Maggie kicked a yucca and lost her shoe, watched it flying off into the distance. Pursed her lips and lowered her arms, her shotgun in one hand and the other out for balance. Boone coughed to cover a laugh, behind her. She turned her head to face him with such a slow and deliberate moment, he had to cough several times before she was staring at him. Had a smile on his face, the _jerk,_ staring at her like no one's business.

"Well, go _get_ it!" she said, holding her bare foot up in the air. Boone sputtered and coughed again, running his hand along her back as he walked past her to retrieve the heel.

As soon as he was away Maggie lowered her foot and covered her face, breathing out slowly. _Dammit!_ She rubbed her temple with her fingers, massaging the skin. Thought she was gonna lose it, really. So much _tension_ ―so much... so much _skin_ ―she could practically feel herself dissolving into a puddle―

When he'd laid down behind her, she hadn't been able to stop her heartbeat from exploding all over the place. Stupid fluttering heart, betraying her like it had. She'd kept her head, but shit, that was _hard as_ _hell_ to do! Maggie rubbed her breastbone, feeling the fluttering again. _Don't start that shit again!_

At least... at least he'd been okay about it. Kept his promise.

 _Speaking of promises,_ she thought to herself, watching him coming back over the road. _I'm definitely breaking mine―_

Boone handed her the shoe and she put it back on. "We're almost there," he said, his voice a little more serious. "Saw the sign."

Maggie nodded. "Okay," she said. "When we get there―"

"We'll look around," he replied. "You said we might be able to help."

She stomped her foot to make sure the shoe was on properly, and started walking toward the hill. There was the sign, yeah. Little boxy canyon area, bunch of old buses and car parts laying about for houses. NCR tents and refugees limping around all over.

"Shit, Mister New Vegas wasn't kidding," she said, frowning. "This place is pretty _shit."_

Maggie stared at a couple of Khans limping around. None of them should know who she was. But she was still leery. Nero made a lot of fucking enemies, back in the day, and the Slither Kin went to war real hard with the Khans. These people might not see things like she did, now; and Boone... she glanced at him. He'd been here before with the sole purpose of killing them. It wasn't as if either one of them would be _welcome._

"I'm gonna run up to the tents up there," she pointed. "Looks like the NCR is running the show, so I'll see what they wanna do. You coming?"

Boone nodded, breathing slowly and deeply. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm coming."

* * *

After a long day of running about the mountains―Maggie had to steal a Khan outfit off some poor bastard in a cave, because she finally lost her shoe again. At least _this_ time it wasn't in a rock―and at least she didn't lose her _foot,_ goddamn _bear_ _traps all over the fucking place―_

She unbuttoned the top of the vest and tried to make her boobs look bigger inside the leather, but it was useless. Boone was watching her when she gave up in disgust, his eyebrows raised and a real funny smile on his face.

 _"What?"_ she growled, frowning.

"Nothing," he said, turning away. "Are we done here? It's getting dark out."

"Yeah, we're _done."_ Maggie reloaded her shotgun as they walked outside, then adjusted her boobs again, and grumbled under her breath.

"Can we..." Boone started, then faded off.

"What?" she asked, turning to him.

He sighed. "There's a place I'd like to go," he said, very quietly.

"Whatever you wanna do, man," she said, shrugging. "Let's go hit up the captain, or whoever she was. Get this stuff back to the camp."

They made their way back and gave the supplies away. Maggie was antsy the whole time, explaining about the Khan up in the cave. The Gilles woman looked her up and down in a question, obviously wondering why she'd changed her clothes. Maggie straight up ignored the look on her face and kept their talk on point.

She wanted to get this part over with, and find out what was on Boone's mind. He'd been pretty quiet and she knew he was thinking about what he'd said before―got the feeling that it wasn't gonna be easy to deal with him. Some refugee had muttered behind her that she was travelling with a murderer. It wasn't just _him_ that felt that way.

She didn't know how to take all the negative comments, because― _hell,_ that was how shit _worked_ in the wastes, she'd lived thirteen years of it. Didn't faze her to know someone ordered the gunning down of women and children. Kin and Riders and Khans and cannibals all did it to each other. How was the NCR so different? People were people. Nothing _changed._

...Mostly, though, she wanted to spend some more time with Boone. Just her and him sitting out in the desert, not even talking or nothing. She missed the times she used to spend sitting with Nero, listening to him talking about whatever. Just... being around him. Boone reminded her of that when he was holding her, and it made her sad because―because he was trying to make her feel better and she'd only felt worse―

Fuck, she needed to stop thinking about Nero. She remembered Benny, instead.

 _Fuck!_ That was almost _worse._

* * *

"Maggie, my gal, my sweetness―" Benny opened the door and stumbled a little, drunk off his ass at the end of the night, like always. "Baby, c'mon, don't leave me _hanging―"_

She held up a hand and turned the page of the magazine she was reading, lying on her stomach in Benny's bed. After she deliberately made him wait, hearing him breathing loudly and knowing exactly what he was gonna want, she turned to look at him. "What," she snapped.

He was hanging with one hand on the door frame, the other tucked into a pocket, eyes lit up and face smiling. "Don't do me like _that,_ baby," Benny said, a grin spreading ear-to-ear. "Why you gotta be mean to the Ben-man?"

Maggie rolled her eyes and looked back at the magazine. "Whatever."

"Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," he sang, and let go of the frame, moving into the room. "I love you, baby, you're so goddamn mean to me but I _love―"_

"Shut the fuck up and state your business, Benny," she said, trying to focus on the words in front of her.

Benny moved closer to the bed, grabbing a post and spinning himself down onto the mattress. She ignored him, re-reading a paragraph. "Baby, you're so cold," he laughed, patting his pockets and pulling out a cigarette. "Why'd you bother marrying such a catch, if you ain't gonna take advantage?" He dropped the cigarette and looked at his hand in confusion, then laughed at himself.

"Maybe I just like the cut of your caps," she muttered.

Benny barked out a laugh. "Such a _bitch,"_ he said. His hands wandering up her leg, under her skirt. She shot him an irritated glance. "A bitch with an 18-carat bod," he added, pinching her ass.

Maggie sighed, frustrated, and turned onto her back. "The hell do you _want."_

"Why you gotta make me say it, every time," he answered. "I want my _wife_ to lay a kiss on my lips and act like she at least _likes_ me, even a little." Benny moved himself to lean over her, flipping up the front of her skirt. He started pulling her underwear down, making a mess of it.

"I don't know why I _bother_ wearing clothes," she growled, moving her hips to help him. _He's too damn drunk to last long, anyway,_ she thought. _Get it over with._

Benny plastered a wet and scotch-laden kiss on her mouth. "Me either," he laughed, drunkenly. "You're always out of 'em in five seconds, anyway."

"It's _over_ in five seconds, too," she muttered, quietly.

"One of these days, Maggie," Benny said, smoothly, as he unbuckled his belt with one hand. "I'll make you feel like you make me―and you ain't gonna like it _one bit."_

"What _ever_ ," she grumbled, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Maggie snapped out of the memory and stared across the campfire at Bitter Springs, looking down the hill. It had been a long time since she thought about Benny; could've gone a lot _longer._ Stupid asshole and his portending. Didn't need to _remember_ that he'd pretty much told her he was gonna kill her.

Boone was standing away from her, at the top of the plank stairs, doing nothing. Maggie watched him for a moment, enjoying the fire. Wondered what he felt like, right now. Wondered if he was upset because she'd made him come out this way, even if she was doing it for him.

The way he'd told her about it... it was important. Something he _needed_ to do. She knew better than to let him stew on it, now. It would only get _worse,_ like it had before.

She stood up and went to join him, feeling the chilly air of the desert through the tiny amount of cover the Khan outfit gave her. "This stupid thing is worse than that _dress,"_ she muttered, as she walked up beside him. "Hey, uh, where did you want to go?"

Boone pointed, without a word. "Where?" she asked, trying to see. It was too dark to see much of anything.

"Canyon 37. That's what the NCR calls the pass down there."

Maggie squinted into the darkness again, nodding. "Alright. Let's go."

She led the way down through a little cemetery―Boone made a comment about it, not a good one―and they walked out to the bottom of the little pass. Boone moved out ahead of her and pointed out where he wanted to go, a tiny ridge to the southwest of the main camp.

Maggie sat down on the edge of the rocks and stared up at the little pass, making a thoughtful noise. "So, what happened?" she asked, out of curiosity.

"Main force got spotted too soon. Khans came through the pass in bunches," he said, quietly. Boone moved forward and stood behind her, staring out into the distance. "It was all wrong, though. Women, kids, elderly. Wounded started coming through, too."

Maggie sighed. "This was..." she leaned back on her hands and looked up at him. Upside down, he still looked really terrible. She frowned a little. "This place was their home." She remembered, that was why she'd never been up this way. Wasn't allowed, Khans would have killed any Kin who dared. "I bet it burns their asses that the NCR's got it held down like this."

Boone didn't say anything for a long while, and Maggie stared up at the stars, watching thin clouds skidding across the sky. It would have been peaceful, if she didn't know that he was as upset as he was. She thought she'd heard him grinding his teeth, even. She wasn't sure what to say, to make him feel better.

"I don't know why we're here. Thought maybe it'd help me see things better." Boone turned away from the Canyon, abruptly. Maggie looked back at him, then sighed. She started to get up from the edge, as he talked.

"But I'd like to stay here for the night. Think some things over."

What started as a "yeah, okay" ended in a yelp and a hiss when she slid off the edge and landed on her ass below. "We can do that," she called up, cursing herself for stumbling so damn much.

 _Ruined a perfectly good moment, there._ She was a fucking moron, for _sure._

* * *

She passed out pretty quickly, sitting with Boone on the little ridge and leaning against his side. When she woke up she was freezing-ass cold, her fingers stiff and neck sore. At some point Boone had moved away from her and was standing with his gun out, looking through the scope over the road. Left her lying on the rocks, uncomfortable, and not in a great mood.

"What's going on," she asked, groggily, sitting up and brushing her hair back. _"Fuck,_ it's _cold_ out here―"

"Something's wrong. Got a group coming our way. Looks like a Legion raiding party. It's big."

Maggie's eyes opened wide in alarm. She bolted upright and moved to his side, looking over the distance like he was. _"Where?"_ she hissed, her hands clenching and unclenching.

A chance to _really_ kill some Legion―a chance for _revenge_ ―Maggie was both excited and terrified. Excited at the opportunity to take down some assholes, at the chance to kick some _ass,_ but terrified because if there were too many of them... like she'd felt back at the Cove―she glanced up at Boone. The last time there had been _way_ too many, he'd ended up on a cross, and she'd been pressed into talking with Caesar.

 _Fucking assholes._ It didn't make her feel much better, thinking about it.

"Maybe too big," he muttered, and panned the scope across the area. A spike of fear ran through her. Or maybe that was the cold, she couldn't really tell.

She rubbed her hands together and looked up at Boone. "What are we gonna do?" Maggie asked him.

"I'm going to stay here, fight them off." He glanced at her, sideways. She knew that kind of look. It was a "you hie yourself home and be a good girl" kind of look. _"Listen,_ Maggie..."

"What the fuck _else_ am I gonna do?" she growled. "I want revenge, _too!"_

"Maggie, I'm not gonna ask you to stay," Boone said, checking the bolt of his rifle. "You should get somewhere safe. Can't chance―"

"Oh, fuck _that,"_ she snarled. "I ain't leaving you to fight the _Legion,_ alone! _Last_ time―"

"Last time I fought them for _you,"_ he said, pointedly, not raising his voice. "Last time, I damn near died. And if you aren't around to come save me―"

"You _ain't_ going down there without _me,"_ she interrupted, and pulled her shotgun. "Not _this_ time. This ain't no _goddamn_ swan song, _Craig._ I'm not gonna let you _die_ _―_ if _you_ die, _I'm_ straight-up fucked!" She growled and checked her own ammo, then shot him a mean look. "And not the _good_ kind of fucked, either," she added, a little quieter, and much more blatantly.

Boone stared at her for a long moment, then chuckled. "I really..." he chuckled again, and shook his head.

"You really _what,_ jerk?" She held her shotgun up, put a hand on her hip and glared at him. "I 'really' wanna know what you _'really',"_ she said, testily.

"...I really do _love_ you, Maggie," he smiled, and moved off the rocks, down towards the ruined buses and cars below Bitter Springs.


	34. Punishment Enough

Note: I'm still smiling about the injury cuddles thing, heh. I didn't manage to get that many in there, but I think the next chapter should make up for that.

And c'mon, you guys, Maggie won't never _not_ curse. She's like that guy from "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn".

(derp derp minor edit)

* * *

 _"You WHAT?"_

But he was already away from her, moving fast toward the Legionaries. Maggie tried to put all thoughts out of her head and focus on the coming attack―

She stomped down the hillside, leveling her shotgun at the first non-Boone head she saw. Oh, that― _that son of a b_ ―she couldn't even _express_ the irritation, right now. All she wanted to do right now was break shit and kill Legion bastards with him and he was pulling _this_ bullshi―

Maggie stumbled and hit the rocks jutting up over the buses with her back, smoothly spinning herself into cover. She heard growling and put her shotgun over her forearm, aiming for the edge of the rocks. Boone was standing up above her, in full view of the coming Legionaries, taking a few hits and looking angry as hell.

It was hot or cold with him, when Legion was the subject. She glanced up at him, frowning. Set her knee down into the rocky ground and fired at the mongrels streaming towards the camp. Funny that she was the one covering him, too. She reloaded; hot casings bounced off her thigh and down to the ground.

A clattering noise above her brought her attention to her back, but not soon enough to avoid the machete coming down onto her. Maggie pitched herself forward and away from the Legionary recruit, landing on top of her gun awkwardly. She spun onto her back and kicked out at the Legionary with both feet, landing a hard slam onto his upper legs.

The recruit grunted in pain, falling backward, but caught himself on the rocks and swept a leg forward, kicking her legs out of the way. He sprung toward her, machete upraised and striking downward.

She couldn't get up from the ground without leaving herself vulnerable to another attack―and she could hear Boone somewhere off in the distance, grunting out curses and firing repeatedly. He was busy and couldn't come to her rescue, right now―she had to deal with this asshole, on her own!

Maggie rolled herself up the hill with a hard shove, out of the way of the attack. The recruit struck the dirt where her neck would have been, turning to face her quickly. She lifted the shotgun―

She grinned and pulled the trigger, aiming at the recruit's head―

Nothing happened. _Oh, fucking hell!_ She hadn't gotten the shells in after the last of the mongrels!

Maggie started pushing herself backwards on her elbows, glancing around her, and turned over onto all fours, trying to propel herself up and toward the camp. _Fuck!_ Of _all_ the times for her to be a _goddamn idiot―_

The recruit lunged forward, pushing her down onto her stomach and face, mashing her head into the dirt. She spat out dust and pushed back against the heavier weight, but she didn't have the fucking upper body strength to do one push-up, let alone one with a _grown-ass man_ on top of her―

The recruit punched her in the head, hitting her in the side of her eye and making her swear _real_ good. Maggie grabbed her machete from her side and swung backwards, slicing into the recruit's hip _―goddammit,_ she got herself too, that _fucking hurt!_

Another slice backward and an elbow with her left side pushed the asshole off her back and onto the ground where he rolled down to the rocks. She marched over and kicked him in the teeth, before retrieving her gun. Laid it across her back and spat on the Legionary, holding up her machete and glancing up into the camp.

Maggie flicked blood off the machete as she watched the attack. More Legionaries ran up the hill from the rocks―Maggie's feet pushed her toward them. Couldn't let them get into the camp! _Goddamn Legion bastards!_

She hit the nearest Legionary with her entire body weight, knocking him sideways but not down, but her machete lodged right into the asshole's neck. He stopped still for a fraction of a second, then blood spurted out around his armor, splattering the both of them. Maggie turned and moved up the hill, searching for another target. Didn't bother to watch him fall; he was dead anyway.

She heard Boone before she saw him, backing up and going through the little pass they've been through before. Two Legionaries were chasing him through―another one was sneaking around a tent―Maggie sneaked up behind him, gripped her machete with both hands, and hacked into his exposed thigh as hard as she could. She pulled back for a second hit as he thrust the butt of his rifle backward and into her uninjured eye.

"Oh, you _motherfucker!"_ she shrieked, hacking at his legs repeatedly, watching blood flying and pieces of flesh shearing off with each uneven slice. Both her eyes were beginning to swell up from the assaults, limiting her vision―

She grunted in pain when the recruit turned and shot at her, angrily yelling something and favoring the leg she'd cut into. Bullet went through the top of her shoulder, near her neck, and she pulled the machete up―smacked the broad side into the bottom of his chin and kicked out with a leg, pushing him through the canvas of the tent and wrapping him inside. She stomped where his head was, shrieking angrily, until he stopped twitching and the white canvas started soaking up blood.

 _Fuck,_ she was hurting bad! Her right leg felt weak, her shoulder all jacked up and stiff, eyes swelling near to shut. Maggie paused and applied a stimpak to her shoulder area before looking around for Boone.

Couldn't―couldn't hear him shooting anymore, over the screaming and crackling of fire, and the gunshots from the NCR troopers fighting back against the Legion. She found herself near to Captain Gilles, and stuck with her long enough to repel three more Legionaries, shouting curses as Gilles directed her men to flank the enemy.

 _"Fuck!"_ Maggie yelled, twisting to avoid another slicing machete. "Don't these fucking assholes ever _give up?!"_

Gilles barked out another order at her men and shot a look at Maggie, raising her rifle. For a brief moment, Maggie had a flashback to Benny and his fucking pistol―

Gilles shot at a point behind and above her, and a body fell across Maggie's back. She grunted in surprise and fell forward, landing on her machete. _Goddammit!_ "Coulda fucking _warned_ me―" she yelled out at Gilles, who had turned to sweep her rifle across another Legionary, and ignored the complaint. Maggie shook off the dead man and got herself back onto her feet again.

Limping from the soreness of her legs―it was hard work, scrambling over the camp and making sure none of the bastards were hiding anywhere―and she'd just had no less than _two_ of those bastards land on her like a sack of _produce―_

She made her way toward the pass where she'd seen Boone get pushed back. She coughed, spitting up a wad of snot, then slowed her pace. Her side was pretty bloody― _stupid leather vest_ ―she slowed even more and listened carefully.

Gilles was calling something that sounded like "all clear" and a few heartfelt cheers rose behind her, inside the camp. _Good,_ she thought, setting her mouth into a grim smile. Legion is less a few men and no one was taken.

 _"Boo―"_ Maggie coughed again. Shit, where'd he _go?_ She turned her head to look up at the tops of the rocks. She couldn't see him anywhere―goddamn fucking _bastards_ hitting her in the eyeballs, fuck them to _hell!_ Her mouth was a little swollen too, when the hell did _that_ happen?

Wait, _there_ he was. Crouching at the top of the little ridge, sweeping his rifle out over the road and searching for a target. Maggie made her way slowly down the pass and called out to him, waving.

"I think I killed like five of em," she said, holding her side where the leather was torn, willing the bleeding to stop. "Uhh... you got any stimpaks?"

"You―" Boone swung down from the rocks, putting away his rifle. "Are you injured?" he asked, his voice on edge.

Maggie watched him moving toward her, wincing in pain. "It's not _that_ deep," she said. "Just bleeding like a motherfucker, is all." She lifted her hand from her side and saw the gush of red down her side, chuckling to herself. "I bleed _real_ fucking good sometimes."

Boone pried the leather vest back, popping the buttons off in his hurry to examine the cut. He swore loudly, applied firm pressure against the wound, and moved her up the hill with one hand on her side and the other around her shoulder. "You shoulda gone somewhere safe," he said, angrily.

 _"Bullshit,"_ she growled. "And―goddammit, you _jerk, now_ I have to find something _else_ to wear―"

"Shut up, Maggie," Boone muttered, marching her up the hill and through the pass.

"You shut up," she snarled. Shoulda known he was gonna be like that, after telling her she oughta go hide. She rolled her eyes at him.

He damn near dragged her to the medical tent, where she threw the vest onto the floor and patted her scraped skin. Boone rustled up a few bottles of water to clean the wound after Lt. Markland applied two stimpaks.

"Don't think you'll need more than that," Markland said. "Not a bad injury, all total."

Maggie looked at the pinkish scars over the skin on either side of her abdomen, one side extending out as a minor scrape near to her bellybutton and the other a little deeper and broader, almost through the muscle. She blinked repeatedly as the swelling in her eyes went down, and she could finally see the wounds that Boone had taken―gunshots and cuts from Legion machetes, but the real winner was on his face.

"You _asshole,"_ she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at his face. "You're over here griping at _me_ for getting hurt and _you've_ got a pretty bad slice―"

"It won't kill me," he said, wiping blood away from the cut, which ran under his eye and over the right corner of his mouth. It had gone through the top lip entirely, separating the flesh in a weird way. Moved funny when he talked. It wasn't bleeding, anymore; he musta used a stimpak right after it happened. It was healed, and now he was gonna be stuck looking weird.

Maggie pursed her mouth and squinted at him. "It certainly ain't making you any _prettier,"_ she said.

Boone's mouth twitched as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "That would take a goddamn miracle," he said, slowly. He still sounded a little angry―a little sad, and there was something else in there, she couldn't tell if he was trying to bite on his own self or what.

She shivered a little. Damn desert _air,_ cold as shit. And she was out _another_ outfit―couldn't very well walk around the wastes with an open vest. Rather take her chances naked. _Hah, at least then I'd get the element of surprise on my side!_

Well, at least they were both alive and he wasn't up on another cross. Maggie turned to Boone and frowned. "You _alright,_ man?" she asked him, sweeping her legs off the bed and sitting beside him. Kept her arms over her chest, just in case. "You're acting kind of... sad."

"I..." He rubbed his chin. "I thought my time had come. For a minute there everything made sense. I could feel the end coming. I was ready for it."

She stared at him. Well, that probably explained what he'd said to her, _before_ ―her cheeks reddened and she looked away quickly, staring at the floor.

"Now... I'm back where I was." Boone sighed, and slumped down. "I should've died here a long time ago."

 _"Pssh,"_ Maggie said, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. "You totally underestimated the awesomeness of our team." She stared down at the tiny swell of fat on her chest, the blush of pink sticking out over her crossed arms.

"I'm still here and nothing's changed," he said, turning to look at her. "Still feels like I'm living on borrowed time."

"Boo― _Craig,"_ Maggie said, her face flushed and brow sweating with the effort to restrain her heart from flying off into the tent. Didn't like hearing him brought low by his troubles. Didn't like the way it made _her_ sad, either.

She knew what _that_ meant, and she was still trying to pretend it wasn't happening.

"Craig... I know how you _feel."_ She shifted her weight slightly to face him, but didn't look up. "I grew up Slither Kin. They only have one rule; do what you are asked to. If you _don't_ do it―when they say, and _no_ complaining―you're already _dead."_ She glanced up at him through the corner of her eyes. "...Sometimes what we were told to do didn't make sense. I _understand."_

She sighed, and rubbed her biceps. Thought about the shit she'd done, shit she _wished_ she'd known better about, been less stupid about. _"I_ gave Carla's location away to Nero, after she left. He _knew_ where she was, the whole time she was with you―and I have to _live_ with that, every fucking day―"

"That wasn't your fault," he said, running his thumb over his cut lip. "You didn't know he was going to―"

"It _was_ my fault," she said, angrily. "I was upset with her―she stabbed me in the ass and ran away! If Nero found out I kept where she was―to _myself_ ―he would've... I would've been a _traitor."_ She paused. "Traitor in the Family get one chance to own up, and they die _anyway,"_ she mumbled.

She glanced up at him. Boone didn't reply, just looked out into the tent with that familiar conflicted look on his face. "Trust me on this one," Maggie said, toeing the ground with her boot, nervously. "Having to live with what you've _done_ is punishment enough."

The tent was very quiet for a long time, the only sounds a crackling fire outside and the occasional cough or mumbling of a passer-by.

"Never thought about it that way," he said, finally.

"I'm so sick of dealing with all these _assholes_ who never loved me," she said, getting angrier. "And―fuck, _you_ said it." Maggie tightened her arms over her chest. "I wasn't about to let you die _here,_ and ruin any chance we got for― _whatever_ this is―"

Boone turned and wrapped his arms around her chest, shuddering a little. "Thank you for bringing me here," he said, muffled into her hair.

"No problem," she replied, laying a hand on the back of his head.

"I _do,_ you know," he muffled.

"I know," she said, rubbing the rough stubble on his scalp. "I'm pretty sure _I_ do, too." Boone tightened his grip on her and Maggie groaned in pain.

"Alright, _knock it off!"_ she growled, gently smacking him. "My stomach still _hurts―"_

"I do love you, Maggie," Boone murmured, pulling back a little, and kissing her on the mouth.

"I―" she muffled and laughed, pushing his chin back a little. "I guess I love you too, _jerk."_

Boone smiled. Maggie's heart fluttered again, but this time... _this_ time she let it wing itself around to its own content.


	35. Stupid Heart

Note: Wanted to segue into Boone's chapter (next up) with some funny. Sorry about the delay, I had some interesting things happen. (Also chapter's a lil short, sorry)

* * *

"Alright, so here's the deal," Maggie said, dusting off her leather vest and frowning at the cuts in the sides. "I don't cook, I don't clean, I sure as _hell_ don't do no damn windows. I don't sew, and I don't do laundry, neither. I'm utterly _useless,_ and you're stuck with me. You get that?"

Boone chuckled and rubbed his mouth where he'd been cut. "Right," he said.

She glanced up at him and pursed her mouth. "You know there's no fairy-tale ending, here. We go out there and we're gonna _die_ one way or another." She ran a finger along a cut in the the leather vest, sighing.

Boone smiled at her, meeting her gaze. "If I wanted fairy tales," he said, "I wouldn't be chasing you around the wastes."

Maggie groaned to herself. Again, with this weird lovey-dovey stuff. Made her twitchy―reminded her too much of someone _else―_

"We're gonna finish up this shit with House," she said, trying to still her nerves. "Then we're gonna have to get the Legion out of the desert. I ain't sharing my house with them fuckers, you _know_ that."

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he said.

"Only way to do that is to kick their ass at the Dam, right?"

Boone nodded again. "NCR's holding the Dam. When the time comes..." He stared at the tent wall opposite him. "Legion's going to bring the big guns. Heard they've brought in Caesar's Legate."

"Just another _bastard_ who needs a beat down," Maggie growled. "It ain't gonna be a fun time, no _sir_ ―and we're _definitely_ gonna die―hell, I'll probably fall off and _drown!"_ She growled again. "Hoover Dam's got a _hell of a lot_ of water around it!"

"I won't let you fall off," Boone said, turning to her and putting a hand onto her cheek. "I promise." He smiled gently at her, and dropped his hand to his side.

Maggie's cheeks caught fire. She quickly looked down at the vest in her hand and rubbed her eye with her other hand, trying to think straight. "...Anyway, I figure we gotta pretend to follow House's orders for now. Go down and see what this hubbub with the Brotherhood is gonna bring. Then we'll deal with the Legion."

"They've got a lot of firepower," Boone muttered, glancing away. "Don't know what House expects you to do with them."

"Me _either,"_ she grumbled. "But maybe they can help me figure out how to get into the Lucky 38's computers or something."

"If you do that..." He frowned. "The Brotherhood just wants the tech, right? Won't they try to steal all that from you?"

"Don't you fucking _know_ it!" Maggie threw down the tattered vest. "I'm gonna have to be _especially_ mean to those guys." She smiled a little, to herself.

"Being mean isn't going to stop someone from putting a round through your skull," Boone said, raising an eyebrow. "Pretty sure that's what _started_ this whole thing, anyway."

She grinned and laughed. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, I know. But the NCR ousted them from that power station down there, and chased them off into the desert. I doubt they'll be trouble if they've been broken up." Maggie cracked a knuckle. "House gave me a location to look into, says they should be there. It's gonna take a while to get there."

"You'd better get dressed, then," Boone said, getting up from the bed. "I'd like to get this over with, sooner rather than later."

"The fuck are _you_ so antsy for?" she muttered.

"Don't like people threatening you," he replied, pulling his rifle and checking the bolt. His voice was hard and serious, now, and it made her...

Maggie looked up and away, frowning. _Shit,_ this was gonna take a while to get used to. Being... open about feelings, and all. Not playing games but just being there, together. She yawned, and stared out of the open tent door, seeing the sun rising into the sky. Made her a little bit happier to know Boone wanted to protect her, to beat up the bad guys for her, but it was gonna be difficult for her. She was being _kept,_ again. She'd always been kept by someone, but it was like trying to pen in a cazador―Maggie always found a way to be trouble. Even with _Ne―_

She snorted. Part of why he'd _liked_ her. Dragged her up from the weird mourning she'd been in after her mom died. Brainwashed her into thinking he was the best thing since the world ended, and turned her out onto Vegas like a rabid dog. She'd never been scared of anybody, back then. Knew Nero would retaliate if anyone so much as looked at her funny. And he'd _loved_ that, having a way to show power. It was why they worked so good, for so long.

But that safety was why her and Carla had run around on their own, too. Sneaking about with men on the Strip and not getting caught was _exciting._ Getting drunk when they weren't really supposed to be, weaseling money out of gamblers flush with new winnings... Maggie sighed. Everything they weren't supposed to do, they'd done for the thrill.

"I miss the high life," she said, mostly to herself.

"Here," Boone said, ignoring her comment. He handed her the green Pre-War dress. "You can still wear this."

"I am not changing back into that green piece of _shit,"_ Maggie growled. She turned her nose up at the thing, crossing her arms over her chest.

Boone shot her an irritated glance. "You going to walk out of here naked?" he asked.

Maggie didn't reply, but let a devious grin slide across her face. Boone muttered something, shaking his head, and turned away. _"What?"_ she asked, mock-innocently. "What'd I say?"

"Maggie," Boone said, reproachfully. "Please get dressed. I don't want to be here any longer than we need to be."

"I can't walk through the desert wearing nothing but a Pre-War dress," she snapped back. "I'd get _killed!"_

Boone stared at her for a moment, obviously trying to be patient with her. "You already _were,"_ he said, slowly and deliberately. "Both," he added, after a moment of thought, chuckling a little.

"Have to find a new outfit," she pressed. "No other option."

"You're ser―" Boone sighed through his nose. "You can buy new clothes when we get to 188. Just wear this until then?"

"But I already _wore_ it once," she whined, trying to be annoying.

The look on his face was pretty funny, she admitted. She was pushing a limit, she knew she was. But she didn't want the jerk to think that he could tell her what to do, or something. Had enough of _that_ from Benny―and Nero pretty much press-ganging her into marrying that asshole? Didn't want to go back down that slope again.

Maggie pouted. "I'll find something else to wear," she said, refusing to meet his stare.

Boone shook his head. "You're being purposefully difficult, Maggie."

She laughed at herself. "You can't be figuring that out, just _now!"_

He sighed, ran a hand over the stubble on his head, and turned away from her. "I'm going to take a walk. Come find me when you're ready."

Maggie watched him go, then breathed out. _Okay, so._ Had to find something to wear... Boone was trying to work with her, not against her, and she did owe him to try to behave―at least a little. He knew how bad she could be, and still wanted to put up with her. _You don't find something like **that** every day,_ she grinned to herself.

Maggie turned to the desk and raised an eyebrow at the medical officer. "Don't suppose _you_ have any extra clothing?"

Markland shrugged. "Talk to the captain," he said, never looking up from the scalpel he was cleaning.

Half an hour later Maggie climbed up onto a stand of rocks and came up behind Boone, standing with her hands on her hips and hair in her eyes. "I'm ready to go," she said, looking up at him.

Boone nodded, glancing at her. A corner of his mouth turned up and he motioned for her to lead the way.

"You're not gonna say anything about my clothes?" she asked, trying not to tease him.

"I don't really want to know how you conned someone into giving you an NCR uniform." Boone crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her.

"Fine," she said, and turned to leave. "I figured you'd be happier."

"You aren't NCR, Maggie," he said, following her down from the rocks.

"No, I'm not," she agreed. "But I look _damn good_ in the uniform." She grinned at him.

He returned the smile, but didn't say a word as they made their way back down the road and toward Lake Mead.

* * *

"Whoever made these boots should _rot in hell―"_ Maggie swore and stomped her foot, slightly out of breath. After running a gauntlet through the gypsum works and past a pack of deathclaws, her toes were pinched into the front of the boots, painfully so.

"Put some rags in there," Boone said quietly. "That's what we always did."

She glanced up at him and rubbed her eyes. Was still acting like something was wrong―she couldn't tell what he was thinking about, ever, but he seemed a little out of place. "What's up, man?"

Boone stared out over the wastes, then looked back at her. "Thinking, is all."

"About _what."_ Maggie walked over the ground between them, moving to keep pace beside him. "If you don't tell me, I'll just be mean to you again." She grinned up at him.

Boone's face fell a little, staring out into the desert―shit, he was thinking about bad things again, and she didn't need the downer he brought right now. Not after all that―

 _Hell!_ She had just told him what she was sure he'd _wanted_ to hear her say, for a _long_ time. That wasn't _easy_ for her to do―and she was trying to be nice, wasn't _that_ ever a fucking trial. Maggie's grin disappeared and was replaced by a pinched look.

"Karma," he said, after a moment of silence. "I've got a lot of bad things, coming to me." He looked over at her and smiled weakly. "...You'll probably get it, now."

"Your bad karma comes after me, I'm gonna gut it like a _fish,"_ she growled, and made a stabbing motion.

"It doesn't work like that," he said, quietly.

"You know, you keep saying about all this bad shit coming down on you," Maggie said, frowning. "But I ain't seen anything bad happen to you lately, _except―"_ she stopped in mid-stride and laughed, stupidly. "Except for _me!"_ She grinned and laughed at herself. Wasn't that the _truth_. She'd _broken_ him, a couple times. Everything she'd done to him or for him was bad. Maybe _she_ was the bad shit, and he just didn't see it.

"You aren't a bad thing," he replied, but didn't meet her look.

"Well, _whatever._ I'm too fucking _mean_ to you to be good karma." She kicked a rock. "That probably _evens it out."_

Boone reached out and put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. "You're not bad karma," he said, firmly.

 _"I_ think I am. Damn near got your ass killed a couple times." She looked out over the houses outside of Vegas. "Drove you _insane,_ with that bullshit about Carla. _And―"_ She stopped. Boone lowered his head onto her hair and squeezed her tightly.

"No matter what happens," he said, "I'm _glad_ I met you."

Maggie reached up and rubbed the stubble on his head, feeling her fingertips tingling. "I'd say the same, but I could have done without the being shot and strangled and all _that_ horseshit," she grumbled.

He chuckled, and one of his hands dipped down to her back, running along her spine. "Yeah."

"Stop that," she said, moving his hand away from her hips, where it was moving lower and lower. "We don't have time to grab ass right now. Let's get this thing done."

"I know," he said, softly. "Just... just needed a _hug."_

She smiled to herself, despite how uncomfortable it was. Yeah... _she_ needed the hug, too, and she wanted a hell of a lot _more_ ―stupid her, but what could she do. He _was_ a lot of fun in the sack―

Another wandering hand was moving where it oughtn't though, and Maggie smacked him gently on the back of the head. "I mean it, knock it _off!_ This is _not_ the time―"

"Maggie," Boone breathed out, his breath hot on her ear. _"God,_ _I love you."_

 _Flutter, flutter, flutter. Is that all you know how to do, you stupid betraying cold bitch of a heart?_ Maggie put both her hands on his shoulders and gripped him as tightly as she could, digging her fingernails into his leather armor. She was getting uncomfortably close to giving in, in the middle of the desert and with no shelter nearby―

"You promised you wouldn't unless I wanted it," she accused him, "and _now_ you're gonna break that?"

Boone sighed, and pulled away from her. "No," he said, lowering his voice. _"Miss_ it, though."

"Maybe some other time," she said, trying not to give in to him. Man, that was _hard―_

She moved away and started walking down to the trading post, grumbling under her breath. "Maybe some other time," she repeated quietly, "when we have bedposts to hold onto."

Dammit, now she was gonna be thinking about _that_ for the rest of the day. And she _knew_ he heard her. Boone chuckled under his breath and followed her, his leather creaking in the silence of the day.

It was gonna be a _real_ long walk, to get to this Hidden Valley place. Maggie rubbed her eyes and tried not to think about anything.

 _Stupid fluttering heart._


	36. The Whore Queen of Vegas

**foreword:** _You guys I probably shouldn't write while on painkillers; I'm leaving this here but I'm going to edit it in the very near future (also Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate)_

11-29-15: Sorry about that, I'm editing now, and will be publishing in an hour or two. The change in the chapter is near the end and pretty minor, but is reflecting events in the next chapter.

* * *

Note: I lost a fingernail! Man, that was _painful!_ Sorry about the wait!

* * *

Boone raised his rifle and stared out at the wastes. Coyotes, a couple of geckos, some people milling around a campfire. Maggie was sitting behind him on an outcropping, picking at her fingernails and being unusually quiet. He watched the people for a moment longer, then turned his head back to her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she muttered. "Is the coast clear?"

He lowered the rifle and turned to face her. "Can't tell if they're prospectors or Vipers," he said.

Maggie sighed and ran a hand along her forehead, patting her hair down. "Alright, I guess we'll have to get closer, _then."_ She stood up and hopped down from the rocks, then started walking toward the camp.

Prospectors. Maggie talked with them for a time, bartered a little bit. When they walked away from the camp she was drinking a Nuka-Cola and humming a little. Boone fell in behind her, through a little pass in the rocks.

She seemed like she was in a better mood than earlier, after he'd hugged and tried to touch her. Couldn't help that. Missed _touching_ her. She was showing a lot of self-restraint, but hadn't really let him in on any of her thoughts. Other than her under-the-breath comment about bedposts―which made him smile, because he was almost certain that meant she missed him touching her, _too._

She'd said she loved him, and that was all he wanted. Made the pathetic and miserable him, less so. Even an "I guess I do" was better than nothing.

While he was watching her, she stopped to toss the bottle to the side and scratched her head, then checked the map.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked, partly out of curiosity. Maggie hadn't been very clear on what her actual plan was, overall. Only thing she'd told him was that she was going to play along with House, then get him out of Vegas. She'd been pretty closed-in about all her plans―including that mess with the bodyguard in Freeside.

Doubted that she wanted it to go the way it did. Didn't _like_ that it had happened, himself. She was pretty shaken after that, even if she said it didn't bother her. Boone rubbed his cheek, remembering. Heard her scream, and he'd _known_ it was her―he couldn't imagine what it was like, to be helpless like that.

She'd lashed out at him over the matter, probably only because he was there. Maggie might not have much strength, but she knew how to throw a proper punch. Was more than he could say about himself. ...Wished she didn't have to punch people, though.

"A plan for _what?"_ she asked, turning to look up at him. She looked annoyed and hot, sweat building up her forehead. Thin strands of hair stuck to her skin, and it was all he could do not to think about... _other_ things.

"For the Brotherhood." Boone adjusted his rifle. "How to talk them into helping you." _Nice save, Craig,_ he thought, staring out and away from the sight.

"No." Maggie chuckled, stupidly. "We're winging this one. Like you said, they're gonna want the tech shit House has, so 'plan a' is do what we can." She started walking again. "We'll see how it goes before we have to 'plan b' anything."

Well... it was about right for Maggie plans. He kept pace. "We're not going in there to kill them all, are we?" he asked, after a thought. Maggie wasn't afraid to fight, if she needed, but she might decide it was easier to get rid of the Brotherhood, after all.

"What? _No,_ why―" she frowned and turned to him again, but stopped herself with a quick step. "What was _that?"_

He heard it too, the skittering sounds of radscorpions. Pulled his rifle and searched the area. Maggie drew out her shotgun and cracked it, checking the ammo, then stalked forward slowly.

Over a hill and down into a bowl of rocks, they both found the scorpions. Tons of them, actually. Maggie didn't do much other than curse while firing repeatedly at the things, then switched to her machete. Took them twenty minutes to get rid of all scorpions―every time they turned around two more would be coming down a hill or crawling up from under a rock.

In the end Maggie grumbled and collected poison sacs, tucking them away in her pack. For a city girl, she knew a lot more about the wastes than he'd expected―if she was planning to sell them, he applauded her foresight.

Knowing Maggie, she'd probably try to use them to hurt someone, though. He chuckled at himself. _Not it,_ he thought.

She looked down at her Pip-Boy and then up at Boone. "Should be this way," she said, leading him through the rocks.

Came out onto a chain-link fence and some hillocks set inside of it. Boone stared out and noticed the fans set into the ground, then turned to Maggie. She screwed up her face and stared at her Pip-Boy, then growled and smacked it hard. "Stupid thing," she muttered, and stepped through the fence.

"This is the Hidden Valley?" he asked, walking beside her.

"I guess the name tells it," she said, angrily. "Where the _fuck_ ―how do we _get in―"_ She grumbled, then yelped and dashed forward a few steps. _"Goddammit!"_ she yelled, pulling her machete.

Boone put down the bark scorpion as it scuttled toward him, then swept the area with his scope. "Don't see any more," he said, turning back to her.

"Dammit," she swore, pulling up her pants leg. _"Dammit, the fucking thing stung me!"_

Boone moved to her side and looked down at the wound. A small hole in her calf dripping a thin line of blood with a funny oil-slick sheen to it. "Doesn't look that bad," he said. He patted her shoulder. "You want me to bandage it?"

"Uhh," she said, then stopped and went very still. She blinked rapidly. "Shit. Um. _Craig?"_

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Are those things _poisonous?"_ she asked, still blinking.

"Pretty sure all scorpions are poisonous." Boone stared at her. She was still sweating―her face a grimace of pain and something else. "Are you okay?"

"Whoa," she said, and suddenly crumpled. _"Whoa,_ that's―that's _crazy―"_ Maggie landed in a heap of arms and legs on the ground.

"Do you have any antivenom?" he asked, reaching down to help her up.

"Don't think so," she whispered, moving her hand in front of her face. _"Whoa."_

"Shit," he muttered. The bark scorpion venom wouldn't kill her―but now she was going to be high for a little while, until her body processed the venom. _That might take all day,_ he thought, and eyed the dirt covered hills.

"Hey, I see the door," she said, and before he could stop her, she was wobbling over to a hill. She disappeared over the side in a tumble as he caught up, then activated the lock and opened it.

"Maggie, maybe you should―" he started.

She grumbled and moved inside the bunker. "I ain't spending the afternoon _tripping balls_ on the wasteland floor," she said. "Oh―" she stumbled.

Boone caught her and helped her down the stairs, setting her down at the bottom and looking around the little room. Only one door, on the opposite side. He looked back at Maggie, who was loosening the collar of her NCR armor and groaning.

"Guess we'll have to hang out here," he said, quietly.

"Yeah," she said, waving her hand in front of her. "Damn, this stuff is powerful. I feel like I'm flying." She laughed. "Man, I should sell this shit in Freeside―make a _hell of a lot_ of caps―"

Boone turned to talk to her when a sudden explosion of light overtook them―a flashbang―and an upraised arm with a rifle landed on the side of his face in the confusion, knocking him down and out.

 _Goddammit!_

* * *

He woke up without his clothing. The first thing he thought was that he was never going to be able to handle all the trouble Maggie brought― _wait, where the hell was Maggie?_

Boone bolted upright and looked around for her. Maggie was not in the room with him, and he was damn near naked―he was locked into a holding cell without his equipment―

He stood and examined the door for a moment. Magnetic locks. No way in hell he was getting out of the room. He looked about the small room and sat down on a cot against the wall. Put his face in his hands and tried not to think.

Maggie was _gone._ He was _captured,_ and he was at a disadvantage. Last time that had happened, he'd almost died. _This_ time...

 _Stay calm, Craig. They have no reason to kill you or her, if they're holding you._

Boone muttered to himself and tried to still the anger and fear spiking into his heart. After a while he stood up and punched the wall a few times, letting the pain that came from hitting his knuckles against solid metal focus him.

Shouldn't have come to the Brotherhood bunker to begin with. Boone stared at the door, grinding his teeth. Not with Maggie being so involved in House's affairs, not with her high as a kite after being stung, not with her wearing _NCR_ colors―he couldn't have stopped them, anyway. Brotherhood _hated_ the NCR after that business at Helios.

And now Maggie was _missing_ and _he_ was―

Kicking his own ass, like he _ought_ to be. Couldn't _protect_ her, like he hadn't been able to protect _Carla―_

The door opened then, and he turned his head to stare down a man in a bulky set of power armor. The man regarded him for a moment, then turned to the side and shoved Maggie into the room. Boone caught her and clutched her to himself, glaring at the soldier. She was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, the top open to the cool air of the bunker and her exposed skin breaking out in goosebumps.

The soldier moved and dropped Maggie's pack onto the floor, then removed himself and shut the door, all without a word.

Boone tightened his hands on Maggie, who was muttering something under her breath. He breathed out shakily, then rubbed her shoulder gently. _"Maggie,"_ he said, his voice strained.

"I'm alright," she said, finally, digging her fingernails into his skin as she righted herself. "Lemme go, you _jerk."_

 _"Maggie―"_ he said, turning his head and burying his face in her hair. "Thank God. What's going on?"

 _"Well,"_ she said, pushing him back a little. "I talked to the boss guy. They call him Elder McNamer-amera, or something." She sighed in frustration. "They're not really interested in stealing House's tech, though. Just want some help. I had to tell them I would help, before they let me go." She glanced up at him, and he saw the concern in her eyes, and his self-doubt started to fade. "Are _you_ okay?"

Maggie was alright, and he was alive, and nothing had come of it. She was _lucky,_ though. It could have been _much_ worse―

"Boone," she said, frowning at him. "Hey, _jerk,_ talk to me."

"Maggie, what about―" he started, running his hand down her spine. "The venom," he said, lamely.

"That's all over with," she said, slowly. "Boone, _listen―"_

He held her to him, sighing. Thank God, she really was okay. Maggie groaned and moved her hands up to his head, squeezing his scalp. "Dammit," she muttered, and he felt her move her body flush up against his. "Damn _you_ and your _hugs!_ Let go―"

Boone chuckled in relief, moving her to the cot, and laid her onto the canvas. Maggie immediately tried to sit up but he held her down with a hand and leaned over her, one knee on the edge of the cot. "Hugs isn't _all_ I have," he said, caressing her cheek.

"Not the time for _that,"_ she muttered, angrily. She glared at him. "Listen, Boone―"

He bent down and rubbed his cheek against hers, breathing onto her neck. Maggie swore and went limp, then placed both her hands on his collarbone and pushed him away. "You asshole," she said. _"Listen_ to me!"

"I _am_ listening," he said, running a hand down her side and up her shirt. "Just... _really_ glad you're okay."

 _"Pssh,"_ Maggie said, slapping at his hand. "Like _I'm_ gonna get killed. I'm fucking _invincible."_ She held his hand against her rib cage and sighed. "Look, we're free to go, I just gotta run around and look for some things for McNamar-ama."

"Mmm-hmm," he said, breathing hard onto her neck on purpose. She made a little moaning noise and arched her back up, pressing her chest into his. Boone smiled to himself. She was easy to rile up―a lot like _him―_ he laughed at himself.

"Dammit, _Craig,_ knock it _off!"_ she said, finally getting angry and shoving him back. "I don't want to get in any more trouble with these asshats―"

He pulled away and looked down at her. "What did you do?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maggie flushed and looked away, staring at the wall with her face screwed up. _"Nothing,"_ she said, defensively, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I should be mad," Boone said, shaking his head and moving off of the bed. "You're terrible at lying. What did you _do?"_

Maggie got up and retrieved her pack. "McNara-arama doesn't like me very much," she said, in a low voice. "Uh, on account of my being high. I... I told him I was the whore queen of Vegas." She frowned.

Boone spat out a chuckle. "You didn't."

"I'm pretty sure I did―" Maggie swore. She turned her eyes to the floor. "Look, I wasn't exactly very friendly to _begin_ with―mostly because you were gone―" Her face flushed with blood.

"Maggie," he said, smiling at her.

"Anyway, McNama-ramama doesn't like me," she finished as she met his gaze. "And I told him I'd help him do his thing, if he helped me learn how to use a computer."

Boone stroked her face for a second, then turned and began to dress himself. _...Had_ hoped for something, for a moment. But Maggie was all business right now, and he wasn't about to make her upset. She'd never let him back in, if he kept agitating her. And he knew too well how to handle a moody woman.

"So what do we have to do," he asked, looking down at the clothing he'd grabbed. His old First Recon gear. Forgot that he still had it, for a long time. Didn't know if he could stand to wear it. But...

 _...When in Vegas,_ he thought, glancing at Maggie. She stomped her feet angrily against the metal floor.

"It's _easy_ shit," she said, finally. "Just run out and pick up some stuff for him." She stood up and hooked her machete to her belt. "Ooh," she grinned at him, watching him getting dressed. "I _like_ that. When'd you pick that up?"

"Always had it," he said, quietly.

 _"Damn."_ Maggie's teeth flashed at him in the dim light. "Guess I'm not the only one who can pull it off."

Boone smiled sadly and finished dressing, then turned to her. "Let's get going," he said.

"Yeah," she answered, and hit the door lock. "Yeah. We need to get back to Vegas soon. ...I might have to pull that outfit off you _myself."_

Maggie laughed stupidly at herself the whole way out of the bunker, and all he could do was smile.


	37. Can't Fall

Note: The delay was because of holidays; I lost a fingernail, dropped a 40 lb weight on my feet, and started so many fights I didn't have the time or energy to write. I hate and love the holidays.

Now returning to your regularly scheduled programming; Maggie being stupid (man I ain't a big fan of the BoS, either)

* * *

Maggie scratched her leg where the bark scorpion had gotten her, idly wishing she had something other than water to drink. She was sitting on the edge of a tall stand of rocks with Boone, looking out over the desert. Her hands ached from climbing up there, scraped and sore. Maggie wasn't a damn Bighorner, _that_ was for sure.

It _was_ a really nice view, though. She had to admit that just sitting with Boone out in the wastes was a good deal nicer than holing up in some dark and chilly hotel room back in Vegas.

"So tell me again," he said quietly, "what happened back there?"

"That knock to your head musta scrambled your _brains,"_ she grumbled. "Already told you once."

She didn't like that Boone had been knocked out; but she'd expected that they would try to kill them, not hold them hostage. And she didn't really want to think about that McNamar-era guy or what she'd said while she was flying her high banner.

She was lucky they were willing to help her, anyway. What with her admitted inability to remember the man's name, and her bad attitude... Maggie grumbled to herself.

Boone chuckled softly, and shifted position, running a hand up to the back of her neck, rubbing it lightly. Maggie made a distressed noise and pushed herself away from him. "I'm just trying to get a feel for the situation," he replied, gently.

"Don't mess with me," she said, shakily. "I don't wanna fall off a goddamn _cliff_ today."

"I'll catch you," he murmured, stroking her neck. "Don't worry."

Maggie felt the tingles running up her scalp and down her back, and sighed painfully. She leaned to the side and into him, putting a hand around his side and closing her eyes.

"I get that you didn't make any friends, but you didn't tell me what happened with McNamara," Boone said.

"I don't _remember_ it all that well," she muttered.

"Maggie, I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's going on," he said. He ran a hand down her spine and held her around her hip, fingers resting lightly on her pants.

"Alright, _fine,"_ she said, grumpily. "Lemme think."

* * *

A blinding light overcame her, making her eyes burn and head spin. Maggie turned her head away and caught a glimpse of Boone, being assaulted by one of the men in power armor that bustled through the doorway.

She blinked hazily at the sight, watching the trails Boone made as he fell to the floor, her eyes wide and head swimming with the venom effects. _Shit,_ she thought, and a funny grin came over her face. _Shit, really **should** sell this stuff on the Strip!_

Someone told her to give up her stuff; she did, wobbling the whole time. Shimmied out of the NCR outfit and right out of all her clothes, ignoring the noises that echoed through her head like a rock bouncing down a canyon wall. Someone was protesting something and it made her head hurt with every syllable.

Maggie couldn't remember the last time she had been this high―no wait, she _did_ remember. _Goddamn Dixon and his jacked-up whiskey―_

She stood naked and shaking in the bright lights the Brotherhood men were shining onto her. "Where to, fella?" she slurred out, rubbing her eyes and trying to focus on anything other than the lights―she really wanted to stare at those lights―

Someone moved her into the bunker and down a couple flights of stairs, catching her by the shoulder when she stumbled and fell. Someone was also cursing under their breath.

"Where are you gonna put Craig," she slurred out, and turned awkwardly.

Someone said something loud and angrily, and Maggie winced, closing her eyes. When she opened them again she was standing in the middle of a big metal-walled room and staring down a blond man. The blond man was staring back at her, his eyebrows drawn together, and someone was trying to put something over her head―a collar? Like a _slave?_

Maggie lashed out and shrieked, and the noise echoed back onto her ears. She cowered in pain, then, and heard the loud noises start to fall to soft echoes. Someone put a needle into her arm and held her onto the floor, and the world stopped spinning.

"Courier Six," someone was saying. Maggie blinked, rubbed her eye and her arm, and drew away blood. The needle went in badly, now she was bleeding. She stood up, slowly, warding off the man with her underclothes. Didn't want him touching her―

"Yeah," she said. _"Yeah,_ I'm the courier." The venom effects were going away―

"How did you find us? And do tell the truth."

Maggie stared up at the blond man again, trying to wrap her head around what was going on. Captured again. Forced to speak to the boss. Man, if that wasn't something she was used it, she'd eat someone's _hat._

 _Too bad Boone's beret is gone,_ she laughed to herself. _Aw, shit! Boone!_

"Where is my man?" she asked the blond. "You better _hope_ he's okay."

"Being held securely in a cell, not far from here. He is in no danger." The blond stared her down. "Please answer my question. Your cooperation here determines the outcome of your situation."

Maggie shrugged and put her arms over her chest. "House sent me," she said, turning her gaze to the side and eyeing a soldier suspiciously.

The blond made a thoughtful noise. "Has the man begun working alongside the NCR? Wouldn't have expected that―"

"It ain't that _hard_ to find a NCR uniform," she griped. "Look, doesn't matter _what_ I was wearing. I ain't wearing _shit_ right now! Got me at a _disadvantage."_

The blond's mouth twitched in a smile. "I... noticed," he said. "Has House allied himself with the NCR, Courier?"

"No," she growled. Maggie tilted her head and pursed her mouth. "No, I came here by way of House alone. What I was wearing ain't _nothing_ to do with House."

"Please return the Courier's underclothes," the blond said.

"My name is _Maggie,"_ she snarled, grabbing her underwear and pulling them on.

"I am Elder McNamara," he replied. "Now, tell me why House sent you here."

Maggie rubbed her arm and glared at him. "What, you want the _truth?"_ She shrugged. "House wants the Brotherhood gone."

Another thoughtful noise and McNam―hell, she'd forgotten his name _already_ ―McNara-ama tapped the desk with one hand. "And you intend to _remove_ us?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

 _"Fuck,_ no," she spat. "I'm here for help getting that rat bastard out of _Vegas."_ Maggie stood up straighter and stared the man down. "Need you to tell me how to get into a computer. I ain't a _technical_ type."

"How strange." McNama-erara steepled his fingers together and stared back at her. "...When you first showed up on our doorstep, I'll admit at first I didn't know what to think."

"Most people don't," she muttered, looking around the room. Dammit, the man had weird _eyes._ Made her nervous. Maggie didn't like being nervous―didn't mind being naked in front of strangers, didn't care what people thought about her, and didn't give a half damn about what this "Elder" thought. But this guy made her _skin_ crawl.

 _No wonder House wanted them out. If that's the way he is_ ―she pinched her face and looked back to him, then away again. _Dammit!_

"After giving the matter some thought, I've decided that an outsider could be of great use to me right now." McNama-mama kept his eyes on hers as they traveled around the room. "However, I will not force you to help us. Should you refuse, you will be allowed to leave here, though know we _will_ be keeping an eye on you."

"Yeah, _alright,"_ she muttered. "What do you want, man?"

"First, you will put on this collar," McNama-rara said, and one of the soldiers moved forward. "This guarantees your continued cooperation with us. I will ask you to prove yourself through a small test―"

"You ain't _fucking_ collaring _me!"_ Maggie said, throwing a hand up and smacking the collar out of the man's hands. "I ain't no goddamn _slave!"_

There was a muted conversation between the Elder and the soldier and a pained sigh. "Listen, courier―"

 _"My name is Maggie!"_ she snapped. "If you're gonna call me anything _else,_ call me _the goddamn whore queen of Vegas!"_ She breathed out a little shakily, her nerves taut enough without the outburst. "I ain't wearing a _fucking collar_ like some _Legion slave―"_

"And what help do you _need,_ that you cannot perform on your own?" McNama-ema said, standing up abruptly and slapping his palms onto the half-circle table he sat behind. "How do you expect to gain _aid_ from us, if you will not cooperate with my decisions?"

Maggie avoided his eyes again. "I―" She swallowed hard. _"I―"_

His eyes were intense on hers, now, and she couldn't stop herself from nervously shaking. _Shit,_ he reminded her of Sal when he was in a bad mood. Was a couple years since she'd had to deal with him angry, like that; the last time she'd seen him before she married he'd told her to keep up the ruse or he was gonna show her _exactly_ what he could do with a bench vice―

 _Motherfucker,_ she thought. McNama-rama reminded her of that, and she knew if she didn't play along it would only get _worse._ Another fucker to play _nice_ to. She started to wonder if there was anyone out there who didn't want to use her one way or another.

"You can't even tell me what you want? Did you just walk into the bunker, no thought to the contrary, and expect you'd get your way?" McNama-ara narrowed his eyes at her. "A spoiled brat from New Vegas should know the _finer_ points of this game!"

Maggie breathed out. He was right, though. She should have known―but hell, she'd been poisoned, and she didn't know what the fuck to expect _anyway._ "...You're gonna take it off after I do what you want, right?" she asked, her voice breaking a little.

"The collar is only to ensure your cooperation during my test," he said, staring at her.

"Al-alright," Maggie said, and grabbed the collar from the soldier. She put it around her neck and watched the soldier fitting the pieces together. No way she was gonna get it off by herself― _fuck―_

"Now, we can discuss this test," the Elder said, and Maggie turned angry eyes back onto him.

He detailed a situation with a ranger in the nearby bunker, and ordered her to get rid of the man. Maggie agreed, and was released to the upper level again. Still wearing nothing but her underwear―shit. She grumbled under her breath as she walked through the sand, feeling the sharp prickles under her feet.

The ranger was easily told off with a little persuasion. _I'm either getting better or worse at talking people into shit_ _―_ she rolled her eyes at herself. _F_ _ucking hell, probably both._

Maggie sneaked around behind him and watched him leaving, then she went back into the little room and scavenged a set of casual clothes. She dressed herself with before she returned to the Elder.

"Alright, I did your stupid _test,"_ she said, tapping the collar and staring down McNama-arama. **_"Take. It. Off."_**

"And how did you convince the man to go?" the Elder said, looking at her over steepled fingers again.

"Told him you assholes were gonna blow up my head if he didn't skeddadle," she said, bluntly. "I expect you _know_ that, though."

McNama-erama nodded, stiffly. "You may say what you wish about the Brotherhood," he said, gesturing for a soldier to remove the collar. "But I would rather you refrain from implying that we would kill a random civilian in such a manner. We would _not."_

"Ain't gonna matter, NCR has it out for you guys as much as _House_ does." Maggie ground her teeth. "Can we get on with this _shit?"_

The Elder sighed. "Here is what I need you to do..."

* * *

"Anyway, we go find this stuff from these patrols and we can consider ourselves in... I guess, _okay_ standing, with the Brotherhood." Maggie rubbed her forehead. "Elder whats-his-face promised me he'd _personally_ show me what I needed done if I supported him against this asshole named Hardin, too. They're at each other's throats down there. Fighting each other about who's the boss."

Boone's hand tightened on her side and he brushed his lips against her hair. "They made you wear a collar," he said, angrily.

"Don't _remind_ me. I was gonna punch that bastard in the _face_ for that―" Maggie made a face. "And don't you go getting all _possessive_ about it. It's done, and I _ain't_ putting it on again, no matter what that asshole says."

Boone put a hand under her chin and lifted up her face, staring down at her, then moved in for a kiss. Maggie wrapped an arm around his neck and pushed herself into _him―hell,_ she'd missed _that._ Having someone to just fool around with, even. It was nice, being held like that. She didn't _want_ to let go. But he didn't seem to want to, _either._

He also didn't care if she pushed him away or pulled him to, or if she ran around half-naked, or even if she was mean as hell to him. She _owed_ him, _bad,_ for nearly getting him killed by some stupid men in power armor, too. And for sticking to her like glue.

...She'd be lying if she didn't feel some small thrill at knowing that Boone was all hers, now. _Property of Maggie, do not touch!_ She grinned under his mouth. As possessive as he was, hah, she was _almost_ as bad.

But... _Nero_ had been possessive too, and he'd _given her away―_

Maggie groaned to herself, making Boone pull away, then kicked herself in the head. She didn't want to think about _that asshole_ anymore. Not with― _this_ one―at her beck and call. She pushed Boone backward onto the rocks, and kicked her leg out over him, straddling him.

"Just so you _know,"_ she said, laying her hands on his chest and idly fiddling with one of the bullets in his bandoleer, "we have the time, now. You fancy getting sand in your pants?"

Boone's hands went to her hips and held her tightly, his legs dangling off the edge of the rock and her feet touching air. "Not really, no," he murmured, staring at at her with a tiny smile. "Do _you?"_

She leaned forward and ran her fingers across the stubble on his scalp. "No, but I don't think you're gonna argue with _me_ in your pants, too."

Boone laughed, then sat up and Maggie shrieked― _shit,_ she almost fell off the rocks― _again_ ―her hands went around his back and dug into the fabric, her thighs clenching around his. "You _asshole!"_ she yelled, when she realized she wasn't going to fall.

"You're terrible at flirting," he said, chuckling. _"Please_ stop. ...Just _tell_ me what you want."

Maggie growled, and smacked his shoulder. "Fine, but get me away from the _edge―"_

A few more shrieks and a misplaced hand or two later, they were safer and Maggie didn't really have _time_ to think about falling.

 _You can't fall if you're pinned down by a two-hundred pound man,_ she grinned to herself.


	38. Meat

Note: I _think_ I'm getting back into the swing of things. Sorry about the holiday weirdness

minor edit. my bad

* * *

 _Okay, so... we need a plan._ Maggie scratched her hair and stared down at the collection of holotapes in front of her. She'd listened to them all but couldn't make heads nor tails of the contents, and was irritated and miserable. Had to think up a plan for dealing with McNama-amara or else she might end up wearing that stupid _collar_ again―

She wouldn't be miserable if she hadn't been right about the sand in her pants. Boone seemed perfectly okay with it―bah, he _would_ be. She shot him a glance and grumbled. He hadn't been on his back in the dirt, to get sand in _his_ ass.

Not that she didn't _enjoy_ what had happened. Maggie tried to keep the smile off her face by thinking about how bad she was at flirting with him. ...It'd been a long time for the both of them. She knew he missed it; _she_ missed it, too. And... _hell,_ she hadn't had that much fun in ages, what with all the _crazy_ that was going on.

There was still a little of that, around. At least _this_ crazy was a lot more manageable, with the Brotherhood and her trying to take down House.

"Let's go," he said, holding up his rifle. "Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can deal with House."

"Yeah, alright," she grumbled. Maggie scooped up the holotapes and stuffed them into her pack, shouldering it. "But you gotta stop trying to take charge. Don't you _forget,_ Craig. _I'm_ the boss."

"Always," he said, and she saw him trying to hide the smile on his face. Picking on her, again!

"Keep it _up,_ jerk!" Maggie growled and made a face at him.

The trip back to Hidden Valley was uneventful at least, until they arrived at the broken fence. Maggie was stomping her way down through the rocks when Boone suddenly grabbed her and pulled her backward, ducking behind some rocks. Maggie made a sharp noise in surprise and he laid a hand across her mouth, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. Put a finger to his lips and motioned her up onto the rocks, above the fence.

"Stay quiet," he murmured, crouching. He handed her his rifle and pointed out the problem.

Three nondescript men in combat armor were milling around the sand outside of the bunker. Maggie squinted through the scope and set her mouth. "Who do you think they are?" she asked, as quietly as she could.

"Mercenaries," he replied, taking back the rifle. He stared through his scope at the men, muttering under his breath. Maggie watched him carefully, as a smile crept across her face.

Boone at work was something to see. He was so intense, so focused, he wasn't even noticing that he was making noise. He kept muttering to himself, barely audible, counting the men and their weapons, then went into a litany about wind conditions and distance.

Reminded her of when she'd first met him and he'd been all cold steel and _ice,_ way back before he'd mellowed out. She probably had something to do with that―Maggie put her knee onto the ground and rested her elbow on her thigh, looking up at Boone with her cheek in her hand. At least... she was _pretty_ sure she'd managed to help make a u-turn on his crazy.

Back before, she'd thought he was a murder machine. She wasn't _wrong._ Boone had been trained to kill people by the NCR; special training, even, for killing enemies from a distance. Mark of pride for him to be in First Recon. If it weren't for Bitter Springs, he would have been a perfectly normal man. Might have been as funny as he was now, as... _gentle_ and quiet as he could be, without her having to push him into confronting his past. Without what had happened, he could have even been a different person entirely.

Maggie hadn't really understood him at all. Not until they'd gone to the refugee camp, and he'd been so saddened by his memories... So willing to _die,_ because it was a better alternative than understanding what he felt; because he felt guilt for killing innocent people, and because―

Maggie shifted her weight. Because he was a _lot_ better at feeling for other people than her. She wasn't empathetic, no way no how. Boone... was like a _sponge,_ soaking up all that sad and hurt. Shit, no _wonder_ he'd gone nuts. And Maggie, _she'd―_

Well, she hadn't understood that he'd been broken by all that murder he'd had to commit. Hadn't had the chance, since he'd been too crazy to open up to her like he had at the office park. And when he was forced to―to put Carla down― _fuck._ She wished she could feel half the shit he had then, just so he wouldn't _have_ to.

Her fingers twitched on her cheek, thinking about head shots. The family history. _Fucking hell!_

Maggie looked away into the wastes and breathed out through her nose. _I ain't ready to go to Galilee, just yet. You keep waiting, mom. ...You too, Carla. I'll... hell, I ain't the best person, but I'll watch out for him. However I can._

Boone continued his survey for a moment or two. She watched him, probably enjoying herself a little too much for her own good. Watched his muscles under his clothes, the sheen of sweat over what skin was visible. She started thinking about what went on that morning. Maggie covered her mouth and pretended to cough, hiding her smile. _Not the time to think about that!_

But, shit, she hoped it was gonna _rerun._

She flushed a little, looking back at him. "...You gonna _shoot_ them, then?" she asked. "We ain't got all goddamn _day."_

"Could," he muttered, staring through the scope. "Would be difficult." Boone shifted position and adjusted his hands on the rifle, without removing it from his eye. "Probably not a good idea, though. No markings. Can't tell who they are."

"You think they're House's men?" Maggie asked, nervously shooting a glance over the rocks. She checked her side and pulled out her shotgun, cracking it and making sure there were shells loaded. Hadn't had to use it very much lately, not since Freeside; didn't want a repeat of what'd happened with that goddamn Legionary in Bitter Springs, though. She grasped the stock and held the barrel so that it pointed downward. "Like, he's got it out for me, sending out mercs to kill me on account of I ain't playing his game?"

"It's possible," he said, and breathed out slowly. He turned his head to glance at her. "What's the plan?"

"Well..." she pursed her mouth and thought for a while. "We can't just shoot them without finding out who they are... _right?"_

Boone chuckled. "Why is that a _question,"_ he said, his mouth twitching. _Oh, that jerk_ ―picking on her, again! Would he _ever_ stop! She was about to knock him one just for having the audacity to _try!_

She bared her teeth at him. "Listen, you son of a bitch, I ain't lived in the desert for over ten years, and you _know_ I don't have _proper manners―"_

 _"Maggie,"_ Boone chastised. He shot her a look that she knew, a look that said "Don't take it out on me". She hadn't meant to, but he was picking―didn't make her mood any _better._

She growled, louder than she'd intended. "I might have been a goddamn _tribal_ back in the day, but _back in the day_ we killed any strangers running around!" She clenched her fists on the shotgun, remembering. "Seeing strangers usually meant the fucking _cannibals_ were around, waiting for you to _take their bait!"_

He stared at her for a moment. "Were there _really_ canni―"

 _"Yes,"_ she hissed, angrily. "And if you think for even a _moment_ that all of those bastards are 'reformed', you're about as dumb as dumb _gets!"_

Boone made a thoughtful noise. "That's why you don't eat meat," he said softly, his eyes on hers. "Isn't it."

Maggie paused, surprised. He'd... noticed. Well, she hadn't tried to _hide_ it. She hadn't figured he'd notice, though. And now he'd figured out something that she hadn't wanted to remember, _ever,_ an embarrassing event from the past that she didn't need to recall.

Maggie turned and started moving away. "I'm gonna go ask them who they are," she muttered. "Keep an eye out. Start shooting if you gotta, but don't shoot _me,_ jackass."

She jumped down from the rocks and stomped down toward the fence, hopping over it and toward the mercs. She hadn't thought about _that_ memory, not for a long time. Lots of things in her past she'd come to terms with, but _not_ that. Didn't even want to start thinking about it, not even as an aside―

Back in the day, _that_ was what got the Slither Kin killed more than _anything._ Because the cannibals were real good at staking out a decoy and luring people where they wanted them; an injured man dressed in Kin clothing would bring any one of them to help. Back when Nero wasn't yet a warrior for the Kin, and no one had the smarts to effectively fight the cannibals on their own land... well, you _protected_ the Kin. They'd been the Kin, the Family, and if you saw your own wounded and lying on the desert floor, you helped them. That was how it _worked._

Goddamn cannibals exploited that bond whenever they could. That was how Carla had been snatched, and Maggie was _lucky_ she was faster than the manhunters. Lucky that she was small enough to hide in a mole rat tunnel and escape notice―

She pushed the thought out of her head. Imagining her sister being _eaten alive,_ for the three hours she'd spent holed up in the tunnel... And then having to kick her way _out,_ through a wall of wrinkled and biting mole rat flesh―she didn't _want_ to remember.

And she _especially_ didn't want to remember the way _Sal had punished her_ for leaving Carla to her fate―

Maggie winced and stopped herself before she ran into the mercs, her hands on her shotgun and face contorted in memory. "Who the hell are you guys?" she asked the nearest man.

"Heh," the man said, turning to face her. "Look at this, Bart."

Maggie shot a glance at the others, noting the one who responded to the name. They were all three of them taller than her―like _that_ was a feat, she was a short shit even in heels―and wearing battered but not broken armor. Couple of assault rifles and the one named Bart had a decent-looking .44 revolver. Maggie narrowed her eyes at him.

"There's more of us than you," Bart said, "so why don't you tell us who the hell _you_ are, first."

"Name's Boone," she said, borrowing his name.

"That a first or a last," one of the others said.

"It's _both,"_ she snapped. "Now, _who the fuck_ are you three?"

"Mercs," Bart told her. He glanced at the first one. "We're looking for a lady, name of Magdalene."

Maggie twitched a little, and swore internally. "Heh," the first one said. "We ain't looking no _more,_ Bart." He sidled up closer, and she backed away by three steps.

"You stop right there, asshole," she said, frowning. "I don't know any goddamn _ladies._ Ain't nothing _I_ have for _you,_ neither. _I'm leaving."_ She moved to the side and took a few long strides toward the bunker, before Bart reached out and grabbed her arm, roughly.

"Now, hold on a _second―"_ he started, and Maggie turned her head away.

 _Yeah,_ she didn't need any gore splattering her face. She smirked to herself. Bart's head exploded in a mess of blood and brain matter, and the other two were immediately on alert. One of them darted behind a vent cover, crouching down, while the other moved behind Maggie and held her up under one arm. Before he could even say anything she'd jammed her shotgun under his chin and was about to pull the trigger―

 _Shit,_ the asshole had a knife she hadn't seen! A sharpness at her throat caused her to loosen her finger from the trigger, but she didn't remove the shotgun. _"You son of a_ _bitch,"_ she hissed. "What's your fucking _game!"_

"My game―" His hand tightened and the knife sliced into her skin, painfully. "You listen, you fuckin' _whore_ ―you play nice, or you're going home about _eight pounds lighter!"_

 _Huh._ The first merc she'd ever met who wasn't as _stupid_ as he _looked._ Hell, that was a _rarity_ in of itself. _And come to think of it..._ This was the first time she'd ever had a knife to her throat. She wasn't scared, but didn't know how she was gonna get out of this scrape. Sal never taught her _this_ one―

The man behind the vent cover shot them a look, then turned his rifle out to the wastes, searching for Boone. As soon as his head was over the edge he was dead, his body flailing with an impaled forehead, rifle tossed to the side and limbs twitching. Maggie screwed her mouth up. Fuck _her,_ if Boone was gonna try to shoot the one holding her, _too―_

"Hey, now," she said, calmly. "Are you guys working for House?"

"Yeah, and he gave us your number," the man said, keeping himself securely behind her. "Told us about your little 'friend'. You ain't going _nowhere_ 'til he shows himself. So start talking, _lady."_

 _"Pssh,"_ she muttered. "I _ain't_ no lady. And he ain't gonna come out for _me._ Bastard's 'bout as dumb as _that_ asshole was." She motioned slightly at the dead body beside her.

"You _stupid cun―"_ The merc jerked and yelped and Maggie hissed in pain as the knife scraped across her skin, pushing herself sideways and away. She hit the ground hands first as a burst of laser fire sounded behind her, feeling the blood running down her neck.

Maggie was up and aiming her shotgun behind her as soon as she could, one hand on her throat and the other squeezing the trigger. She stared at one of the power armors soldiers from the bunker, who was casually strolling up to her.

"Sorry about that," the Brotherhood soldier said. He turned to face her, a laser rifle in his hands. "Heard the commotion through the air vents. Couldn't get up here any faster."

 _"Shit,"_ Maggie said, turning to look up at the rocks. Boone was already on his way down, and she turned back to the soldier. "Thanks, I guess. You didn't have to help."

The soldier turned to look at the dead body. "It's my job," he said, dismissively. "You could have told them where the Brotherhood is, at any moment you chose. Now, you can't."

Maggie chuckled, and winced in pain. "I get it," she said, as Boone caught up to her.

"You okay?" he asked, turning her to face him.

"I'm alright. Just a little scrape." She didn't lower her hand. If he saw how bad it really was―she didn't want a _lecture._ "Let's go report to McNama― _Nara―mamera―"_

"Elder McNamara," the soldier said.

Maggie nodded, and winced again. "Yeah, _that_ guy."

She let the soldier lead the way into the bunker, firmly pressing her hand against the slice on her throat and trying to remember which pocket her stimpaks were in.


	39. That Stupid F―ing Chip Again!

Note: This one was a hard chapter to write, I had to keep in mind a lot of stuff from Maggie's past (particularly her first mention of the cannibals). A few notes on Maggie: 1) She's roughly 23 years old, if you haven't figured that out, and 2) she's practically Conan the Barbarian. Too bad there's no camels in New Vegas.

Also, I hadn't planned how the chapter end went but I think it's spot on for Maggie ;)

* * *

The two of them were led through the door, down into the bunker. Maggie started feeling very sleepy, her eyes not wanting to stay open. _Willing to bet that's from blood loss,_ she told herself, even though she had her hand clamped over her neck pretty tightly― _or maybe it's from the lack of oxygen―_

She stumbled a little as they were brought down into the bunker, falling forward into the Brotherhood soldier who had rescued her from the mercs. Boone pulled her back and she saw his face... He was frowning at her. _Goddammit._

She―she wasn't _mad_ at him or anything like that. Just felt really awkward after him figuring out that she didn't eat meat. He probably wouldn't care, but _she_ was still embarrassed all to hell and back about that. It had been a really, _really,_ bad time for her, when Carla was snatched.

Her mom had died, and she and Carla had been out in the wastes because they were trying to run away from the Kin―real shitty idea, they'd figured out later. It was all because of Sal being so fucking tough on them, because he wanted them to survive whatever hit them. In his own words, "You fucking idiots aren't gonna die like a bitch, like your idiot _mother_ did, just laying down and _takin' it."_

For a whole year they'd put up with his terrible "parenting", until Maggie couldn't take it anymore. So they ran away.

But the running away had ended _very badly._ Carla saw one of the Kin and tried to avoid the man, but instead walked directly into the waiting arms of the cannibals. Right where they _wanted_ her. After that it wasn't about running away but about trying to live through the _goddamn_ _day._

It was a _really_ fucking awful ending for _Maggie;_ Carla came home with Nero and Nero was praised for killing the cannibals, something that Carla confirmed had happened. Nothing ill came of it for Carla; Sal assumed that Maggie had run off on her own and Carla had tried to make her come home.

Maggie never held it against Carla. What had happened wasn't her fault and Carla _tried_ to take the blame but, _once again,_ the golden child skipped the punishment. Felt like Maggie had taken all the hits that Carla shoulda gotten in her entire life. Fucking _hell!_ She probably _had!_ She was the youngest and Sal didn't have the _time_ to teach her like he taught Carla, so she got the... _truncated_ version of wasteland survival techniques.

Like having her _ass beaten_ with what was effectively a tree _trunk._ She remembered that one, but it _paled_ in comparison to what happened after the cannibals.

Carla told Maggie about it, later on. Her being rescued was part of the reason Maggie had begun to idolize Nero, because he was strong enough to save her from what she'd _needed_ saved from―

A _really fucking terrible_ ending. She'd spent the next three days locked up inside a pitch-black room with nothing but her fists and a colony of mole rats―and neither her nor the fucking things had any _food_ ―and Maggie had to eat those fucking things _raw_ after killing them _with her bare hands―_

Fucking Sal. She really _shoulda just shot him,_ even if he _had_ saved her ass from Nero. She told him, herself, she wasn't Family no more. The man was a _goddamn fucking psychopath!_ Wouldn't be a loss to the _world―_

But if she'd shot him, she wouldn't have any blood relatives _left._

For the last sixteen years, she couldn't stand eating meat. It reminded her of Carla being captured and her having to fight off an ass-ton of critters as punishment for not being loyal to her Kin. Maggie learned _that_ lesson so hard, it hurt her _now._

Was _that_ why she'd been so angry at Carla, after Benny shot her in the head? She knew it was why she'd immediately agreed to help Boone. She'd been _forced_ to be loyal. Through pain and suffering, Sal made her loyalty _unquestionable._

 _Fuck!_ Maggie's hand could no longer hold back all the blood from her neck wound. She breathed in sharply and pinched the skin shut, holding her breath as long as she could. Maybe all that oxygen she wasn't getting was making her loopy. She was starting to see bright lights in her vision. And she was thinking about shit that didn't make a whole lot of _sense._

She was pretty badly injured. Should swallow her pride and ask for help.

But, _dammit,_ her pride already tried to choke her to death, once. Didn't trust the shit to keep her out of trouble _here._ She was in hot water with _House,_ with McNama- _whatever,_ and― _shit,_ she'd be accountable to Boone for getting herself hurt again. That one, _fuck,_ that one she couldn't get away from no matter _what._ She was stuck with him being all _gooey_ and caring about her entirely too much for his _own_ good.

After that crap with her side wounds, up at Bitter Springs, she didn't want to deal with Boone, right now. She just wanted to find somewhere so she could apply a stimpak without him knowing and then hide the scar under her collar until he forgot she'd ever had a knife at her throat. And she wanted to try to stop remembering about that shit with Carla and Sal.

And fucking Nero, _choking_ her.

Lately, it felt like any new memories that popped up wouldn't leave her head until she'd thought them over a million times. She didn't like that. Being forced to confront memories about Nero or Benny was _one_ thing―she could _handle_ those, they were dead and gone and she'd said her piece about them― _maybe. Maybe_ she wasn't done with Nero. It _had_ been almost half her life, she was with him.

There was a reason why she thought of him as her _pride._ But for the life of her, she couldn't figure it out now. _Fucking blood loss._

It wasn't exactly easy to forget about him _or_ about Carla. Despite what Boone said about letting go, Maggie _still_ couldn't think about Carla without feeling like shit. Or―or Nero, without thinking about how bad it _hurt_ when he betrayed―

The soldier led them down another flight of stairs and into the lower part of the bunker. Before Boone could say anything to Maggie, they were separated. A couple of soldiers pushed him back into a different area while she frowned and stood there, uselessly.

She was still holding her neck, her eyes darting back and forth looking for anything that might resemble a bathroom, trying to breathe in spurts so the blood didn't coat her entire front―

 _"Why?"_ she asked the soldier, breathlessly.

"Security precaution. Elder McNamara wants to speak with you personally, not accompanied by someone who might... disrupt the proceedings." The soldier nodded toward her hand. "And you are injured. That needs treated, immediately."

"But―" Maggie said, before wobbling. The soldier caught her with one arm, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Well, maybe a little unconsciousness would knock those shitty memories right out of her head.

She was pretty sure she passed out with a funny smile on her face, _anyway._

* * *

Maggie woke up in an unfamiliar room and immediately thought about Benny. When she'd woken up in Goodsprings, she'd been like to _stab_ whoever she saw because the first thing she remembered was Benny and his pistol and her head being pierced with a 9mm _bullet._

But that doctor said she was real fucking tough, and he appreciated that she skated through a― _fuck,_ what'd he call it. A prefrontal cortex injury, or something like that.

 _God,_ she missed the Strip. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at the metal ceiling. How come everything had to be so _fucked up?_ She wanted it all to go back the way it _was,_ even if she was still with Benny―back to her being safe and sound in New Vegas, running about Freeside and gambling away all of Benny's money in the Tops or the Wrangler.

Back to when everything was _comfortable_ and none of this horseshit with House was ever in the picture. At least... not for _her._ Why the hell did she go after the platinum chip, anyway? Benny knew she wouldn't give half a _shit_ about some stupid delivery―

Maggie sat straight up in the bed and touched her neck. She'd almost died like _Benny_ had. Almost _bitched out_ like he did.

 _Hell._ _Now_ she remembered. Benny... he'd promised her a _divorce._

Because the rat bastard intended to kill her, anyway. Dammit, he was smarter than she'd _ever_ figured him to be. _She_ had to be smarter than _that._ Wasn't likely to happen, though. Maggie was Maggie, always.

Maggie was about to get her ass killed for no good reason, too. _Well, let's get on with it, then,_ she told herself, grumbling under her breath.

She wiped her face and stared at the room. Where the fuck was she? Her jacket was all kinds of bloody and it wasn't gonna be great when she finally got back to Boone. _Oh, fuck it._ Maggie stood up and stretched, then moved to the door. It opened after a moment or two, which was good because hell if _she_ could figure out how to open it. It was that soldier from before that opened it. Shit, she _oughta―_

"What's your _name,_ anyway," she asked the man.

"Ramos," he said. "Come on, the Elder is waiting for you."

The Elder immediately asked after the holotapes―she gave them up, shaking her head when he asked if she knew what was on them. "I ain't real _technical,"_ she repeated. "Can't make heads or tails of nothing."

"Very well. Your payment, in lieu of caps, was instruction, yes?"

Maggie nodded. "I wanna―well there's this _terminal_ in the penthouse up there that I need to hack, I guess. One of the Followers told me―"

The blond man was watching her with amused eyes. "Let me ask you a question, Maggie," he interrupted.

She scowled. "Alright, _whatever,"_ she snapped. Shoulda expected he was still miffed about her idiocy before.

"General gossip in the wastes tells that the Courier was delivering some fancy package to House. Something of technological importance." He lowered his eyes to his desk for a brief moment. "What was that, by the way?"

"Some stupid poker chip," Maggie shrugged.

"Gossip also tells that you were invited to speak with Caesar at his camp," McNamara said. "Did you, in fact, visit Caesar?"

 _Holy shit, I remembered his name._ Maggie smiled to herself, triumphantly. "Yeah, but that son of a bitch just wanted me to blow up a bunch of House's tech in the weather station up there―" _Aw, fuck, probably shouldn't have told him that. Goddammit, Maggie―_

"I'll take from that, that you are not allying yourself with the Leg―"

 ** _"Fuck, no!"_**

McNamara blinked at her ferocity and a thin smile flickered over his face. "How _did_ you gain access to the weather station?"

"That _stupid poker chip!"_ she growled. She crossed her arms and pursed her mouth. Might as well tell him the whole deal. _In for a penny, in for a pound. It's not like it can get much worse for me, right now―and these guys aren't in a good position to try to take over anything, much less Vegas_ ―she cleared her throat. Maybe they could be friendly.

 _Oh, come on!_ she told herself. _What did I tell you about trying to make friends, you idiot?_

Maggie ignored her own thoughts. "I was asked to go and update his Securitrons with this―" she pulled out the chip and held it up for the Elder to see "―stupid fucking _chip_ here, so they could finally be able to defend Vegas like House wanted, or _some shit."_

"And did you update the Securitrons?" McNamara put his hands together under his chin, looking at her like Sal used to when he wanted her to convince him she didn't need another smack. Smug and _expectant._ Maggie curled her lip and looked away.

"If you're trying to suss out the defenses on the Strip," she growled, "you'd better fucking _stop."_

"It isn't my intention," he said, staring at her. "Call it more of an... intellectual exercise."

"A _what?"_ She screwed her face up. "Look, all them robots are equipped with―like, rocket launchers or something, now."

"So this chip gave you access to the weather station, and finalized the encoding for House's defense," McNamara said. "And it was stolen from you, correct? You had to track the man down to the Strip to retrieve it. That's what I'd heard."

Maggie bristled a little at his smugness. Acting like he knew something she didn't, man, she fucking _hated_ that. "Yeah, I killed that fucking husband of mine because he took the chip, but _mostly_ it was because the asshole _tried to kill me!"_ she nearly shrieked. "That fucking _setup_ of his―" She growled and dug her fingernails into her crossed arms.

McNamara tilted his head and stared at her in that same weird way― _dammit, screw being friendly, I'm fucking out of here―_

 _"Why_ did he take it?" he asked, curiously.

She shrugged, and angrily tightened her arms over her chest. "I don't know, he had this weird fucking _plan_ to―"

 _Wait._

 _Oh, for the love of―_

"Oh, _goddammit,"_ she muttered. "...That's _some_ fucking _exercise."_

Benny took the chip because it was gonna let _him_ into the Lucky 38 and let him take out House. It let _her_ have access to the weather station and let her upgrade House's robots, and it would _let her into his goddamn penthouse, and his secret room,_ and _she_ was a _stupid-as-shit_ _moron―_

"God _dammit!"_ she hissed. "That ain't _fair,_ _you asshole!"_ She pointed at McNamara, her hand shaking. "Playing _games_ on me―"

"I _did_ tell you that you ought to know the finer points," he said, amused. "I appreciate what you've done for the Brotherhood. But, in all due respect..." he shuffled some paperwork on his circle desk. _"Get out of my bunker, Courier."_

"I'm _fucking gone,_ already," she yelled, and stomped away.

She thought about this mess―about her being an idiot―thought about how the King's advice to ante up had been spot _on._ If only she wasn't too _dumb_ to figure it out until now.

 _It's gonna take a goddamn miracle for me to survive all this shit,_ she thought.

 _And I still need a fucking plan―_


	40. How to Pick a Fight, Part Two

Note: I've been dealing with some hormonal and mental illness issues, and it's very hard to write when I haven't got the willpower to do so. Naturally, that parallels into my writing; it's kind of hard to write happy when you ain't. Kind of hard to write something that make sense without it, too. I might have to edit this.

 **Note as of 12-12-15** : Okay, I edited the end, decided I didn't want to drag out the slow end even more. Our Xbox is messing up something fierce so I'm running on memory and Gamepedia entries atm. Not going to Black Mountain today. (And I'm sorry for the long wait. I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as I can. I've been trying to write but it's not working; Maggie's scaring off all the _other_ girls in my head right now.)

* * *

When Maggie was returned to him and they were summarily ejected from the bunker with little ceremony―she was bloody and grumpy. Boone knew this was a condition of Maggie that he'd never get used to.

She started up the highway without a word, heading north toward Sloan. The blood down her front was clearly from a wound on her throat, caused by that merc with the knife. The one he hadn't been able to shoot because he was trusting that Maggie would shoot him first.

That had been a mistake. She was right, she'd been in Vegas for too long; she wasn't used to all these attempts on her life. These were professional grudges and he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to keep her safe from the assholes who wanted to kill her― _especially_ if he was distracted by his own feelings for her.

 _That_ was his karma coming back to bite him in the ass, again. He shouldn't have tried for her―she shouldn't have saved him. Should have left him up on that cross, to burn in the hot sun and pay for his sins. It was what he deserved.

 _Goddammit._ He felt like _shit,_ now. Shouldn't be blaming her for trying to save his ass, no matter why she was trying. Now he was angry at himself for that, _and_ wondering why Maggie wasn't talking to him. She'd been too quiet for a long time, in between her admission at Bitter Springs and this mess with the Brotherhood―

He was only quiet when he had something on his mind, usually something he didn't like thinking about. Like having to... think about Carla. Boone moved up beside Maggie and tried to put that out of his mind. _You're overthinking it, man._

It didn't work. "That asshole nearly slit your throat," he said, angrily. "Why didn't you―"

Maggie made a hissing noise and moved faster, putting distance between them. "Shut up," she muttered, her hands clenched at her sides. "Just―"

"Maggie," he started, moving to touch her.

"Just _shut up, already!"_ she yelled, turning on him. Her entire body was shaking, her eyes lit up in anger. Boone stopped short before he caught up to her, tightening his hand on his rifle strap, staring at her in confusion.

She was upset, obviously. She was angry with― well, she was definitely angry with _him._ But why, he couldn't tell. He searched his memory for a way to deal with her, refusing to answer her anger with more anger.

Maggie curled her lip up at him and turned away, moving north. For a moment, he watched her stomping away. Never was all that great at dealing with Carla when she was as angry as that―but Carla hadn't been as angry as Maggie was, not on a regular basis. And he'd always given into her, rather than wait for her to peter out. It didn't do them any good for either one of them to be agitated, and he would rather―rather see Carla happy than see her angry.

Angry Carla made _Boone_ angry. He didn't know what angry Maggie made him feel, yet. Other than _confused._

"Maggie, there are Deathclaws that way," he said, when he caught up to her. "We should cut through the mountains and go north through the rails."

"Big fucking _whoop,"_ she said, unhooking her machete and swinging it out. "I could _use_ some _goddamn stress relief!"_ She cut through the air with the blade, grumbling to herself.

 _No._ No, it _wasn't_ going to work, this time. If he gave in and let Maggie do whatever she wanted without stopping her from running through Sloan and all those monsters―she was just going to get herself hurt again. She might tell him to hit the bricks if he pushed her _too_ much, but...

He'd risk her pushing him away, if it saved her life.

 _Fuck it. No thoughts._

Boone moved forward, swept an arm under Maggie's shoulders and picked her up, holding her back to his chest. She made an aggravated shriek and tried to punch out at him. He shut her down as quickly as he could, pulling her off into the rocks to the side of the road.

"What the _hell_ are you _doing?!"_ she yelled, struggling. "Let me _go!_ Let me _go, asshole!"_

"No," he said, leaning back against a taller rock and breathing out carefully. _"Listen_ to me, Maggie―"

She growled and lifted her leg, applying a weak amount of force to his knee. "If you don't let me go I'm gonna scalp you in your _sleep―"_ she snarled.

"Would you," he said calmly, _"really?"_ One of his hands dipped down and grabbed her hip, slipping inside of her khakis and rubbing the soft skin. She shivered slightly, her body trembling under his touch.

Didn't work, distracting her like that. "Don't you start thinking you're fucking _immune_ just 'cause I _let_ you have sex with me―" she started, sounding genuinely angry at him. _"Nero sure as shit wasn't!"_

That one was a hard blow. She said she loved him, and now she was taking that away by depersonalizing it―by denying that their relationship was anything more than physical? That wasn't true. He'd fought tooth and nail to keep it from being that way, against his own desires and her easy nature. He'd kept the promise until she'd made it clear she was okay with him loving her.

And―lumping him in with _that_ bastard? The one who let _her_ go to her death, who had set up Carla to be taken by the Legion, the one who had actively tried to _strangle her―_

Boone hadn't been able to save her then. _Not_ him.

When he'd first met Maggie, she was a mess. She hadn't even had a plan, just her anger and a straight-edge. And he―he hadn't _helped,_ going crazy like he had. He hadn't even managed to pay her back for trying to help him, helping him figure himself out and helping him at Bitter Springs―

She deserved _better_ than him. She was still being selfless, letting him tag along and making him smile, treating him better than he ought to be. Better than he ought to be for killing her _sister_ and making her _own life hell―_

She kept giving herself away, but―why? Why did she keep it up, if she was just going to act like this, and push him away in the end? Maggie wasn't a saint, but she'd been the best thing that happened to him since Carla went away.

"Maggie," he said, breathing out as evenly as he could. "I know you feel like you can't tell me what's going on. I don't know why. Please... _talk_ to me."

Maggie didn't reply, just moved her hand and jabbed her fingernails backward into his thigh. She was _trying_ to hurt him. Boone sighed. "Are you going to _bite_ me, too?" he asked, annoyed, and tightened his grip on her. "You're going to walk out there and fight Deathclaws―with that tiny little machete? You're trying to get hurt. I _can't_ let you do that."

She made an angry noise―and her head flew backward into his chin, knocking him backward into the rocks. _Hurt―_

Boone made a face. Had to play the hard way. Like when he'd shut her down after she sucker-punched him. Might have actually hurt her then, if he hadn't been so leery about touching her.

He moved and forced her onto the ground, fighting off her hands and legs as he positioned himself over her, holding her down with his hands on her wrists and hips resting against hers. Maggie stared angrily at him, her face gone red and hair flying all over the place, those brown eyes lit up with fire. "Maggie," Boone said, leaning down to touch her forehead with his. "You _need_ to talk to me. I want to help―"

 _Dammit!_ She bit him again! Much as he appreciated that Maggie was a big fan of fighting dirty, and that it was necessary at times, he didn't need her to be so angry and horrible with him. Now right now. Not... not when she was refusing to tell him what was going on, or why she wasn't acting like she _had_ been―

She was acting like she had before, when she was _helpless._ When she'd been helpless to that asshole in Freeside. She'd been separated from Boone too many times to count―she was injured by those mercenaries, and the fucking Legion at Bitter Springs―and _every_ time she'd been angry and refused to talk to him, after.

Him being around her only seemed like she got into more and more trouble, each time. This last time, she'd nearly gotten her throat cut, and she hadn't wanted to tell him about it. Hadn't even tried to ask him for a stimpak, like she had in Bitter Springs.

"Are you _mad_ at me?" he asked her, moving his mouth around her teeth on his lips. "Did I do something to _make_ you angry? Was it something I _didn't do?"_

Maggie's teeth bit down harder on his top lip, drawing blood. She made a frustrated noise, then bucked her chest up into his, trying to fight him off again. Boone closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.

It didn't work, yet again. _"Why_ are you acting this way?!" he asked, angrily. _"Maggie―"_

 _"I'm fucking tired!"_ she yelled, pulling her head away from his and tearing his lip open. Blood poured from his mouth onto her, dripping from his chin onto her neck. The wound was painful but something he could ignore. The blood on her skin―he _couldn't._ It only reminded him that he wasn't able to do anything to help her, that she made him feel _helpless―_

"I'm fucking _tired_ ―and I don't _know what to do!"_ she added, shoving him backward in his distracted state. His knees hit the dirt beside her, and she shoved herself away with one foot.

"I'm _tired_ of being _fucking dumb Maggie!"_ she said, her voice breaking.

He let her go, and she pushed herself out from underneath him, scrambling across the dirt and away from him. "You think I _want_ to be like _this?!"_ she asked, shrieking. "I'm _dumb as hell_ and I'm going to get myself _killed―and―"_ She made her hands into claws and held them up, looking at her palms. "And _everyone_ around me is gonna get _killed,_ if I―" She closed her eyes and growled. "Everyone in _Vegas_ is gonna _get killed!_ Because I'm too _fucking dumb_ to know better than―to let things _be!"_

"What are you talking about?" he asked, frowning at her from the ground.

"That goddamn terminal I needed to get _into―"_ she threw her hands up and made a frustrated noise. "I had the fucking key the whole _time_ I was _too fucking dumb to realize it!"_

Boone moved his hands up and pushed himself up, sitting back on his ass in the dirt. "Why would _everyone_ in Vegas die because of _that?"_ he asked, staring up at her. Rubbed his mouth, felt the edges of her teeth marks on his lip. She'd torn the wound from Bitter Springs open, the skin barely healed now a mess of blood and swollen tissue.

"You don't _get it,"_ she growled, clenching her fists. "If I can't even figure out how to get rid of one computer-faced _asshole,_ how in hell am I gonna get rid of the _fucking Legion?!"_ Her face contorted and she looked away, blinking back tears. "I'm too fucking _dumb_ not to pick fights with _you!_ How in the _fuck_ am I supposed to fight off the _goddamn Legate at the Dam?"_

"He'd probably expect you to bite him," Boone muttered, wiping away blood.

"Right, because I'm just some _stupid fucking tribal bitch!"_ she yelled, sweeping a hand up into the air. "And you're _so_ much fucking _help_ with that!"

"I know I haven't helped you," he said quietly, pushing himself up into a stand with one hand. _God,_ she made him angry, acting like this. He didn't know how to deal with it. "If I hadn't taken Carla away―things would be a lot better for _everyone." And I'd be dead,_ he told himself.

"Maybe if you stopped _reminding_ me of all the _shit_ I had to go through―" Maggie's hand dropped to her side again. "Maybe if I didn't have to remember all the horrible _shit_ I lived through, just to get to this point―and maybe if _now_ wasn't full of the _same shit―"_

"You're blaming me for your decision to take out House?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

 _"No!"_ she said. _"No,_ I just―I _can't―"_ She put her palms on her face and hissed out a breath. "I don't know what to say! I'm only good at being _stupid,_ Craig!"

He moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him in a crushing hug. "You know why I came to the Mojave?" he asked her, his arms shaking from anger. "I'm too fucking _stupid_ to know better, too."

"What _ever,"_ she muttered, wiping her face and sucking snot into her head.

"I'm serious," he said, moving a hand up to touch her head. "People kept telling me not to enlist. Said I was dumb as hell to risk my life. When I came out here―"

"You were dumb," Maggie snapped, angrily pushing him away. "Dumb to go and fight some stupid war that wasn't even _yours_ to fight. This―this _shit_ with the Legion―if the NCR wasn't _here_ those fucking assholes would be gone _already,_ because _we_ would have taken them out! Not _bandied about_ like the damn _NCR_ did!"

He breathed out and dropped his hands, letting her move away. "You honestly think that?" he asked, icily. "You honestly think that a bunch of suits with tommyguns could take down a _well-trained and hundreds-strong military force?"_

"What else _should_ I think!" Maggie's cheeks were bright red, her eyes filled with tears. "I wasn't taught shit about― _politics!_ And this― _with House_ ―he's only gonna keep trying to _kill_ me! But if I take _him_ out, the _only thing protecting Vegas from the stupid fucking Legion is me!"_

She sounded like she was scared. _Goddammit,_ that _was_ it.

She was _scared_ because she realized what was going to happen when she did take House down; because she understood that the robots would be the only thing keeping her and the people of Vegas from being overrun by the NCR, or the Legion. And she'd taken out her fright in the only way Maggie knew how; she'd tried to pick a fight with him.

He'd risen admirably to the occasion, too. _Should have just let her peter out, Craig. You goddamn idiot._

"Maggie," he said, staring her down. "You don't have to be afraid." It was his fault, that she was so upset.

"Yeah, I _do,"_ she muttered, turning her face away and wiping it messily. "I―" She sighed and crouched down onto the ground, putting her face in her knees. "I never _wanted_ to be in charge. I've messed it all up."

"For the record, I think you're doing an okay job," Boone said, moving up beside her. "You've done what you can." He stared at the back of her hair. "...Haven't lost the game yet."

"I'm a terrible gambler," she muffled out. "I anted up at the wrong time."

"What?" He frowned at her.

"House raised the bet and I _can't match_ it," she said, sounding far away.

Boone crouched down beside her. "Didn't the game start with Benny? Shooting you? Or..."

Maggie shook her head. "Benny made it so I could get the chip, is all. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't agreed to play that game."

"What about Nero's plan to take over Vegas?" he asked her.

She made a rolling motion with her chest. She was crying. "Nero didn't even _have_ a plan for House―he only wanted to get rid of the Rough―the Chairmen." Maggie rubbed her forehead on her knees. "He wasn't even playing the _same game."_

"Well," Boone said, sitting down beside her and putting a hand on her head. He rubbed her hair gently. "Why not start your _own_ game?"

Maggie sat in silence for a moment. She went very still, and Boone kept his hand on her head, lying heavily on her hair. After a long time, she turned her face to him and sighed.

"Are you gonna play it with me?" she asked, in a small voice.

"Always," he said, smiling softly at her. _"Always,_ Maggie."


	41. A Maggie Plan

Note: FIL is in the hospital and I've not have much time to write, so sorry. Hope this helps alleviate the sadness

whoops, minor flub. fixed it.

* * *

Boone was staring at her, and all Maggie could see was his bloodied face and feel her shame. She'd gone and messed it all up... _again._ Her cheeks filled with blood, her face smashed into her knees. She'd bit him _again,_ and this time it was a lot _worse_ than it had been before, because―

 _This_ time, she had more to _lose_ than some asshole she'd just met.

 _"Sorry,"_ she whispered, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Boone. I shouldn't _have―"_

Boone snorted, rubbing the back of her head. He turned his eyes out over the distance. "You really do have to stop _biting_ me, Maggie," he said, sounding tired but amused.

"Well," she said, trying a half-hearted attempt at humor, "you taste good."

Boone groaned, pressing his lips together. "What did I say about flirting," he muttered, shaking his head. _"Seriously._ Knock it off."

"I know," she sighed, and rubbed her forehead on her knees again. "I'm _sorry."_

They sat in silence for a little while, until Maggie finally let her legs go and stretched out on the dirt. She laid onto her back with her hands under her head, staring at the sky. Thinking. Had been thinking a lot lately, and maybe that was half her _problem_ ―half the reason she was so messed up and _scared._

She hadn't meant to start a fight with him―hadn't wanted him to see how upset she was. Boone picked up on her attitude right away. Goddamn him and his paying attention to her. He really _did_ love her. Goddamn him for _that,_ too. Maggie scowled at herself. She'd broken him _bad,_ and he _still_ crawled along after her.

But it was too easy to start that fight, really. Boone didn't react like other people did, when she was violent. Didn't get scared or try to back down, just stood there and _took_ it. Like fighting a _brick wall._ That was why, when he'd dragged her off into the rocks, she'd panicked. He'd _never_ ―except for the fight on the highway, back then, he'd never tried to hold her down like that. It wasn't like him and she thought for a brief moment that he was starting up all that shit from before, again.

And she'd panicked because―well, she didn't have a lot of good _experience_ with being held down by men, now _did_ she? She didn't know what it meant when Boone started acting like that. God _damn_ him for being less predictable than ever. And goddamn _her_ for being fucking dumb about it, assuming he meant the worst.

Hell, he was being fucking _patient_ with her, too. Maggie closed her eyes and tasted his blood on her lips. _Too_ patient. She finally met the one person in the world who―who could take everything she dished out, and who―

Reminded her of her mom and _her_ patience, and he was bound to her just like her mom had been _hostage_ to Sal. _Fuck!_

Boone was... _Boone._ Tough as shit, patient as all hell, forgiving her her misdeeds and putting up with her because―she sighed. Didn't want to think about all that, again. Maggie turned her head and looked at him, still sitting beside her on the dirt, staring out into the distance. She was stuck with him, come Hell or high water―and Hell was on earth right now―she _still_ hadn't managed to chase him off.

Yeah, she didn't _deserve_ him.

Maggie moved a hand out and rubbed his back lightly, looking away at the thin clouds over them. Didn't say a word, just touched him. Wanted a hug. Felt like― _well._ For once, she didn't feel like an _idiot_ to want a hug. Just felt like _shit_ for being so mean, again.

"Going to have to lay down some rules," he said, after a time. "We can't be like this. Not if you want to get things done."

"Rules?" she asked, confused.

"About not biting me. Not fighting." Boone turned and looked sideways at her, giving her a sore smile. "Not fighting with _me._ You said yourself, you're basically useless and I'm stuck with you. I don't care if you're as useless as deathclaw hugs."

 _"Hey!"_ she growled, shoving him a little.

"We need to get along better," he said. "I can't help you if you don't _trust_ me. I'm not out to get you, Maggie." He shot her an intense glance, and she looked away in shame.

"I think I _proved_ I'm useless, today," she muttered, laying an arm over her eyes and grimacing. That was the truth, her being useless―only good for fighting and fucking. Maggie blinked back tears. And not trusting. She'd trusted _Nero._ And that―that got her _here._

 _Here,_ about to get herself into altogether too much trouble to survive. _Here,_ ruining her chances with a man who actually did treat her well, who wanted her to succeed without gaining anything from it. _Here,_ making a mountain out of a mole rat hill just because she was scared to death she wouldn't be able to protect her home or her people.

Somehow she thought her mom would approve of her trying to save Vegas, even if it meant Vegas was still gonna be as crazy, as over-the-top, and as drug- and booze-laden as it ever _had_ been.

"You're not useless," Boone said, softly.

Maggie scoffed. "Don't think I have much in the way of skills," she replied, snippily. "Unless you count whoring about."

Boone made a frustrated noise and rubbed his face where she'd bit him. "You're _not_ useless, Maggie," he repeated. "You're just scared, and that's okay. ...You have to stop fighting me. I'm not the bad guy. I only want to _help_ you."

"I know," she muttered. Didn't make her feel any better, or less helpless, and she hated that. Having to _admit_ that she was scared. Being scared wasn't an _option,_ out in the wastes. Sal would be so fucking disappointed in her, for acting like that. Not that he wasn't _already._

"And," Boone said, and shifted his weight on the dirt beside her, looking down at her. "I told you that if you wanted, I would stay put. Do you want me to go?"

 _"No."_ Maggie sighed, painfully. "You know I'm never gonna tell you _that,"_ she said. "I can't afford to go _anywhere_ alone. I'm real good at trying to die, if not actually _dying."_ She rolled her eyes. "Guess I'm not _useless,_ after all."

He chuckled at her, moving a hand to the inside of her knee and rubbing her leg. "Listen, we _have_ to deal with House." Maggie made a pained noise at him. "You might not like the idea, but that asshole is out for your blood. Even if dealing with him means you have to be in charge―"

"I wanted to own Vegas, back when I woke up," she murmured, staring at the sky blankly. "I was gonna kill Benny and take over the Chairmen and―and just lord over it all." She sighed. "Didn't think it would actually _happen,_ though."

He watched her for a quiet moment. "Life is funny like that," he said, in a weird voice. "Sometimes... you get what you needed, when you need it _most."_

Maggie dropped her arm and pushed herself up on her elbows, staring at him. "What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Boone breathed out in a puff and looked away. Didn't answer her. Thought she knew what he was saying, but―she couldn't believe it, herself. It seemed too good to be true.

She thought about the reasons why she was need to be in charge of Vegas, instead. _Maggie_ needed _Vegas_ because... she'd _never_ been in charge before. Never had to be the boss, _ever._ Maggie being the _boss_ meant she had to... had to be more confident, less awful, behave nicer, and learn how to deal with the troubles she didn't know how to deal with in the first place. She had to _grow up_ a little, and stop acting like the spoiled brat that McNamara had taken her for. Not let _other people_ take care of her problems for her.

Carla had taken care of trouble for her, and Nero too. Never _was_ accountable for herself, before now. Now... it _mattered_ , her being accountable. It mattered because she was working to make things better for others, and because she'd had to make herself better. She'd made herself better... because of Boone.

 _Oh, fucking hell._ Of _all_ the people in the world who would have helped her, it was her _wife-killing brother-in-law turned new lover._

Man, _that_ shit was too fucked up. Maggie didn't even want to try to wrap her head around what was going on with that.

"Just ignore me," she muttered, mostly to herself. "Only making myself _worse."_

Boone rubbed her knee again gently, then moved his hand away. He sighed. "I'm not going to wait around until House hires another bunch of mercs to find you," he said, slowly.

"What am I supposed to _do,_ then?" she asked, exasperated. "He's―he's got Securitrons with _missile launchers_ and shit, now! Thanks to _me!"_

"What happened to Maggie the invincible?" Boone asked, partly teasing. "You were ready to take on Deathclaws with a glorified _knife,_ just a moment ago."

"She's already made too _much_ trouble," Maggie snarled. "Might as well disown _her_ ass."

He smiled at her. "Keep her for the Legion, then," he said. "Think she'd like that."

Maggie scowled at him. "But, _seriously―"_ she started.

"There's only one thing we _can_ do, right now," he interrupted. "Go in and put that chip into the terminal, and find out what House is hiding. Deal with him." He glanced at her. "It's not going to be _easy._ Nothing ever is."

"I don't really care how _hard_ it is," she muttered, sitting up. "Just... want to be careful."

"Yeah." Boone nodded. "After we get House out of the picture, you can put that robot into the mainframe. And then..." He smiled at her with one half of his mouth. "We wing it. You roll with the punches better than most people, Maggie. I don't think you really need to make complex plans."

"So we're going with a _Maggie_ plan?" she asked. She frowned. "You know that means we're gonna get _hurt,_ probably real bad, too?"

"Lot of things in life are painful," Boone said, sounding far away.

"Alright, _fine,"_ she grumbled. "But if you get shot in the _ass_ again, I'm not removing the bullet. Or the, whatever, _missile."_

Boone was still thinking about Carla, even if he'd said he was gonna let go. He'd _never_ forget. She'd gone and messed that up, too; she'd tried to make herself forget even though she _knew_ she couldn't.

 _Stupid Maggie._

* * *

They traveled up through the rails like Boone suggested, heading north toward Freeside. Maggie couldn't help the nervousness in her chest, thinking about how she wasn't gonna get near the gate without those damn Securitrons ganging up on her.

'Course, the two of them _had_ been damn near blown up when they went to Nellis for House, and she really didn't expect the Securitrons would be that _different._ Keeping on the move and hoping they didn't lose a leg or nothing. She felt the chill of the desert air as the day turned to night, stared out over the Mojave.

When Boone suggested they cut through the mountains again onto the highway, she stopped him and directed him south instead.

Toward Novac. Where it began, for the two of them, and where she'd first realized that she'd been played for a fool by Nero.

"We might as _well_ go," she said, rubbing her forehead and staring at the dinosaur in the distance. "You can... you can say _goodbye_ to Manny. Wrap up that business."

 _"Why_ would I―" he started, sounding angry.

"Look, I ain't all that _good_ at apologies either," she growled. "But you owe Manny a _big_ one. Ain't been nothing but _terrible_ to him, and he helped me a lot after you got _crucified―"_

"That bastard was _glad_ that Carla was gone," Boone said, heatedly, "I don't owe _him a goddamn thing."_

"Only because she was a cold-hearted _bitch!"_ Maggie snapped right back. _"I_ wouldn't want her around either, if she made _my_ life _hell!"_ She scowled at him. "But she only made _my_ life _hell_ when she _left!"_

Boone looked away from her and tightened his hand on his rifle strap. Maggie put her hands on her hips and stared at him, angrily. "I _know_ you think he's the worst for _wanting_ her gone. But he didn't _know_ she'd― _how_ in the fuck _could_ he have _known,_ Craig?" She screwed up her mouth and looked up at the sky. "He deserves _better_ than _you acting like a dick to him!"_

Boone didn't reply, just stared at her blankly. Like he was looking through her, or something. He hadn't been that cold in a long time, and she didn't like it. _"Fuck,"_ she muttered. "I bet if you'd told him she'd been taken by the Legion, he'd have _jumped_ at the chance to help you get revenge."

"It doesn't matter." Boone turned and started walking toward Novac. "I'm not saying anything to him."

"We'll _see_ then, won't we," Maggie jabbed, and moved along behind him.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked, testily, glaring at her over his shoulder.

"Whatever the _fuck_ you wanna think!" she hissed. "Stop being mean to _me,_ just because I'm trying to make things a little _better!"_

Boone stopped short and she ran into his back, stepping on his heel and swearing to herself. After a short moment of quiet and stillness, he turned to her and put a hand on her cheek. "I know you're trying to _help,"_ he said, meeting her eyes. His were hidden behind sunglasses, she couldn't tell what he was aiming at. "But this... _this_ is different."

"S'not _different,"_ she muttered. "You didn't _have_ to talk to any of those Khans you might've shot up in Bitter Springs. You know Manny was a Great Khan, right?"

Boone's hand dropped and he closed his eyes. "I know."

"So _how_ is you being a murderer of one Khan any _different_ than you being a _dick_ to _another?"_ Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. "You're _gonna_ tell him you're sorry that you were so goddamn _mean_ to him or I'm gonna leave _your_ ass in _Novac_ and go get myself killed in Vegas on my _lonesome."_ She thought she sounded pretty firm. _Hoped_ she did, anyway.

Boone sighed, and turned back toward Novac. "No, you won't," he said, quietly. "But... I _will._ For you."

"You're damn _right_ you will," she growled, and stomped down the hillside to his side. "I ain't gonna bite you again, but I know _lots_ of ways to make people _behave."_

Boone breathed out a laugh. "I believe it," he said, sounding a little relieved. "I believe it."


	42. Comebacks

Note: A weird day when you have to ask yourself how come you ain't wrote a sex scene in a while. Fair warning.

* * *

It was pretty much what she'd figured, when they walked into Novac. The sun was setting and Manny was strolling across the asphalt as she rounded the corner into the motel lot. When Maggie yelled out at him to wait because she wanted to talk to him, he flinched. She probably shouldn't have said what she did but she wanted to make sure he _knew_ it was her, coming.

 _Flinched, hell._ She would have laughed, if it wasn't such a serious matter. Maggie put her knuckles to Boone's shaved head and pushed him forward, walking behind him the whole time. He didn't say a word, just stared straight ahead as their feet crunched along the debris strewn through the lot. Maggie kept her eyes on Manny, making sure he was watching.

"Go on, then," she muttered, and nodded to Manny, when Boone was finally facing him. "I'm gonna go up to my room."

Manny raised an eyebrow, blinked in surprise, and turned his face to Boone in one fluid motion. "What's going on, man?" he asked, sounding confused.

Maggie turned on one heel and started off across the lot, to the stairs. She'd reached the second step up before Boone opened his mouth and started talking. Maggie kept moving, but before she reached the door she could clearly hear him saying something that made her snort and smile.

"Maggie's making me come to Jesus," he said, sounding defeated. "So I'm here... to apologize."

She slammed the door behind her and sat down on the edge of the bed, kicking off the cowboy boots and tearing out of her dusty clothes. She'd leave him to talk with Manny for a little while, and it would let her take a damn bath.

 _Would be nice to get some sleep without sand in my ass,_ she grumbled to herself.

* * *

Maggie was sitting in the tub with her mouth just under the water, blowing bubbles and being silly, when Boone came up to the motel room. She didn't even know he was there, at first, and embarrassed the shit out of herself trying to sing underwater. _Goddamn sniper shit._ Scared the hell out of her, too.

"What in the world are you doing," Boone said, from behind her, and she jumped up in the water. Snorted and hacked because she'd swallowed water in surprise, and glared at him, trying to regain her composure.

"You _asshole,"_ she coughed, when she was able to talk. Boone pressed his mouth together and leaned against the doorway, staring at her.

For a moment she kept her hands on the edges of the ceramic and clenched it tightly, glaring right back at him with water dripping into her eyes and a mean look on her face. She sank back onto the sloped tub end and let herself back under the water, up to her chin. "Wasn't doing _nothing,"_ she muttered, idly examining her fingers.

Boone breathed loudly in the small room, and she pretended she wasn't paying attention to him. A flush in her cheeks belied her feelings, being caught by him. Last time he'd sneaked up on her in the bathroom... She sighed quietly, and closed her eyes. This time, she wouldn't _mind_ him copping a feel on her, so much.

"It's done," he said, after another moment.

"Good." Maggie opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. "How'd it go?"

He moved into the room and sat down on the toliet, rubbing his face. "Wasn't easy," he muttered.

"You said yourself, nothing is ever easy." Maggie snorted and the bathwater moved under her face. "Did you leave him with 'sorry'?"

"Yeah," he replied, and dropped his hand to his lap. "Yeah, I told him sorry."

Maggie stared at Boone over the edge of the tub, then looked up at the ceiling. "You gonna tell _me_ about it?" she asked, pointedly.

"No." Boone shifted his weight.

"Ugh, fine. _Be_ that way." Maggie ran her hands up through her hair and ducked under the water, then came up and stood in the tub. She put a hand out to the wall and looked down at him, frowning. "I'm getting out," she announced. "Get out of here."

Boone sighed, and leaned back so that his head was touching the wall. "No," he said, blinking at her.

She hissed at him, and crossed her arms over her chest. "There's not enough room in here for me to get dressed with _you_ sitting there," she whined, staring at him.

"So don't," he said, and a faint sliver of a smile went over his face.

 _"Oh,"_ she groaned. "Is _that_ how this is gonna be, today?" She pinched her face at him, her skin breaking out in goosebumps from the cool room.

"Maybe." Boone reached up and grabbed his sunglasses, putting them on the sink. "C'mere." He motioned at her.

"No _way,_ you're just as dirty as _I_ was! I just _bathed,_ jerk!"

"You can get back in the tub, after." Boone leaned forward, reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. Maggie made a vaguely threatening noise, but moved out of the tub with his pulling. "I..." Boone sighed, and picked her up as he stood, moving out of the bathroom. "I _need_ this, right now."

She frowned and pursed her mouth, but let him carry her to the bed. Boone laid her down and curled up behind her, holding her tightly around her side. His breath across the back of her neck made her shiver and straighten out, pulling away.

"Maggie," Boone said, running his hand up to her cheek and peeling away her hair. "You... you understand me better than _I_ do, sometimes."

"Don't need to _understand_ nothing," she said, shivering a little. The room was cold because she was wet and naked but she knew part of that was him breathing on her, like _he_ knew would get her riled up. _Jerk._ She was too cold to move away, too. **_Jerk!_**

Boone's hand moved down to her chin and turned her face to his. She moved onto her back, staring at him. "Thank you for making me do things I don't want to."

"What are you talking about?" Maggie grumbled, trying not to get all mushy. "If the shit in Vegas goes sour, we're gonna need _somewhere_ to lie low. Can't lie low here with people _mad_ at us."

Boone chuckled, breathily. "Maggie's good heart is still really, really tiny," he murmured, and pushed himself up onto an elbow. "It's still _in_ there, though." He leaned over and kissed her very gently, his hand moving lower and lower.

"Wait," she said, breaking off the kiss with her hand against his forehead. _"First,_ you gotta tell me what you said to Manny. Then..." her nose crinkled in disgust. "Take a bath. You smell like radscorpion venom. It's _nasty."_

"Not my fault. You put those things in my pack." Boone rubbed her collarbone in a circle, staring her right in the eyes. "Those Brotherhood guys shook it up like a soda and that stuff went everywhere."

 _"Ugh,"_ Maggie groaned. "Come on, man! At least tell me what the hell you said to _Manny!"_ She moved his hand off of her, dropping it to the bed.

Boone laid back. "You heard the first part."

"Yeah, some _bullshit_ about me and Jesus," she muttered, turning onto her other side and propping her head up with her elbow. Put her cheek in her hand and stared down at him. "Which, _shit,_ what _ever,_ man."

"Manny didn't understand, at first," Boone said, slowly. "But he... didn't mean to make me angry. He was... he didn't know what happened. Thought Carla ran off on me."

"I told him all _that,_ before. What'd _you_ tell him new?" Maggie moved her hand up to his vest and began undoing it, popping buttons around the bandoleer.

"That you were making me say sorry because I'm a jackass," he muttered, moving a hand to cover hers. "Because you thought it would help me."

"S'truth," she snapped. "What'd he say to that?"

Boone was quiet, staring at her with that funny conflicted look on his face. Maggie kept her gaze on his jacket, on his hand on top of hers, feeling the roughness of his fingers as he moved them across her skin. She shook his hand off after a moment and kept undoing buttons.

"He said that he was sorry, too," Boone said. "Sorry that you were so damn mean."

Maggie scoffed and smacked him open-handedly, on the stomach. "You― _ooh,_ you _jerk!"_ she said, loudly. "You weren't supposed to _conspire_ with that ass―" She pushed herself up and tried to get out of bed. "Just had to say you were _sorry!"_

Boone smiled, and pulled her back to him, making her land on top of him with a grunt. "Maggie," he said, rubbing her shoulders. "It's done. We both said our piece. It won't _fix_ anything, but..." he sighed. "I'm not angry about it, anymore."

"Good. _I'm_ the mean one." She growled a little. "Don't you forget, Craig. _I'm_ the boss." She worked her elbow under her and pushed upward. "And since everyone's gotta _treat_ me like it, I might as _well_ be the meanest _bitc―"_

Boone chuckled, and let her go. "He didn't _really_ say that," he told her. "He said he was grateful that you were trying. And to tell you thank you."

 _"Pssh,_ he'd better," she grumbled, moving off of him. "I don't wanna have to _hit_ him again." Manny threw a pretty good punch. She remembered.

Boone sat up and threw off the bandoleer, pulling off his vest and top. He sighed and ran a hand over his head, then kicked off his boots. "How many shotgun shells do you have," he asked, tugging off his socks.

Maggie turned onto her side and thought for a moment, staring at his back. Looking over the scars, the little burn marks. The Legion, bastards that they were, inflicted those wounds. She remembered having to peel off his armor and seeing the cuts through the leather, feeling the blood that scabbed up pulling away from his skin and wincing in pain for him.

She didn't really want to do _that,_ again. He'd been so _out_ of it...

"I think I have two or three boxes," she muttered, shrugging. Her eyes dropped to the covers of the bed.

"Is it enough to fight your way into the Lucky 38?" Boone asked, standing up and undoing his belt. "Do you think?"

"Yeah." Maggie sighed and dropped to the pillow, mashing her face into the dirty fabric. "It's fine. Don't worry about _me."_

He chuckled again, dropping his pants to the floor with a clinking noise. "More worried about House," he said.

"Yeah, _someone's_ gotta worry for him, I guess," Maggie growled, punching the cover. "Ain't gonna be _me!"_

Boone moved back down and grabbed her into a hug, which she tried to peel herself out of immediately. _"C'mon,_ man!" she griped, putting a hand backward into the soft skin at his hips and regretting it. Just the touch―she felt her fingertips tingling. A familiar flutter behind her reminded her why she liked fooling around with him so damn much. _Dammit!_

"What?" he asked, innocently. "I just want a _hug."_

Maggie growled and pushed herself backward into him, moving her hand up his side. "Now you're being a jackass for _sure,"_ she grumbled.

"Stop tickling," he laughed, moving his hands up to cup her breasts. His fingers were rough on her nipples, flooding her front with blood and heat. Boone moved his head to her neck and spoke into her skin. "That's not fair. I'll have to fight dirty."

 _"Ah!"_ she snapped her head back and pushed herself into his hands. The familiar flush of pleasure wound its way down her neck and through her spine. "Man, you _know_ I'm the _only_ one who fights dirty 'round here―"

"Maybe I picked up a few pointers from you," he muttered, and she flushed. Fucking _hell,_ was he good at comebacks. His fingers moved across her nipples, making all the blood in her face drain to somewhere else. Somewhere else where it was much, _much_ nicer to feel the ache.

"You're still stinky," she managed, arching her back in the awkward position and rubbing her thighs together. God, he knew _all_ the little spots to touch―her skin was throbbing already, just _begging_ for something more―

"I don't think you're gonna be paying attention to that." Boone's mouth moved up to her jaw and he smiled against her skin. "Not for very much _longer,_ anyway."

The good feeling spiked and she hissed out a gasp, as Boone moved a hand down her stomach and onto her mound. One thick finger slid down deeper than it needed to, across the burning heat. It was almost _painful,_ how good it felt. She moaned, long and low, into the quiet room.

"You―" she started to say, and smacked his hand. "No―not _that."_ She―didn't want to be reminded―not with Boone. _Not like that._

Boone's hips ground into her backside, pressing himself against her ass and twitching intentionally. "Alright," he said, softly. "Just... thank you."

"What?" she said, her mind a little scattered.

"I don't deserve to be happy," he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear. "But you make it alright."

"I make―" she started, but he was rubbing her nipples again and she couldn't help it. "God _dammit,_ Boone, if you wanna have a conversation, _stop!"_

"I'll shut up, then," he laughed, and moved a hand down to her thigh, lifting it up over his. A moment later she felt him pressing against her, warm in the cold room. If she didn't _already_ feel like she was going to explode―

Maggie grabbed the edge of the bed with one hand and put her other backward onto his side, muffling her moans into the pillow. Didn't have to be that deep to feel that good―dammit, he was good without having to _try―_

She moaned, biting her lip and trying to hold back. Wasn't too much, she was just―really keyed up, today. Boone slowed down, grunting softly behind her, his hand on her shoulder tightening. _"Maggie,"_ he whispered, breathing hot onto her ear.

God, she was _shit outta luck._ Her head exploded with pleasure, the warm feeling filling her up like fire was crawling over her skin. Maggie let out a guttural moan, punctuated by his movement, and dug her fingernails into his skin, her hand losing her grip on the mattress. Boone sighed a little, buried his head into her neck, and moved faster, pushing her away from him with each thrust.

Just a moment later, he slowed and pulled away, moving his hand from her shoulder and draping it loosely over her arm, breathing a little quicker. Maggie laid there pretty much stunned, until he shifted and looked at her over her shoulder.

"I'll go take a bath now," he said, rubbing her bellybutton.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled, trying to keep her eyes open. "You jerk," she added. "Think you _killed_ me."

"Hope not," he said, moving away. "That would make me more dangerous than anyone ever _lived."_

Maggie waved her arm at him, groaning. "Oh, go away," she muttered, turning her face into the pillow. Boone chuckled and she heard him shut the bathroom door.

For a little while she couldn't think anything, just feeling the pleasant warmth still echoing around her lower half. Once her mind decided it was done with that, she blinked at the boarded-up window and wondered what he'd meant. About not deserving to be happy.

 _Well..._ she sighed, and shivered a little. At least it was something _predictable_ about him. Being negative like that. Maybe he'd get over it, eventually. She didn't know what he'd be like if he wasn't so mad at himself.

Maggie wasn't sure what _she'd_ do when he stopped, either. _Jerk_ _._


	43. Set a Thief to Catch a Thief

Maggie tied her hair up behind her head, cursing with the effort. What she had left, after being thrown into a fire and the various haircuts she'd gotten, was nothing more than a tiny unattractive bob on the back of her head. She sighed, pulled the tie out, and shook the rest loose. Stared at herself in the mirror for a minute. Wondered why she _bothered,_ because she was always dirty or bloody. Couldn't stay clean. She touched her jacket and eyed the bloodstain down the collar with a pinched face.

She was just a big damn _mess,_ anymore. But... being messy was hand in hand with Maggie learning to deal with trouble, on her _own._ Maybe it wasn't so bad, really. It meant she was less worried about the blood and more worried about the wound.

Well, it was probably a _good_ thing, anyway. She left the bathroom to see what Boone was doing.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots. Maggie idly thumbed her bloodied and dusty jacket for a moment longer, then shrugged, and opened the door of the motel room to look out over the windswept town.

Manny was walking out to the dinosaur when she leaned over the railing and looked down into the lot. Maggie leaned her chin down onto her hands, and watched him disinterestedly. He didn't look up toward the room or nothing, just kept going to his post. She wondered how the conversation between the two of them had _actually_ gone; Boone said they'd said their pieces, but didn't say _what_ those pieces were.

Not that it mattered to her, really. She'd only made him do it because she was pretty sure they were gonna get their asses _blown up_ by House's Securitrons. If she was coming back as a _ghost,_ with unfinished business, she didn't want Boone haunting anyone with her.

Knowing him, he'd just want to float around doing nothing. And he'd spend the whole time _teasing_ her. _Only enough room for one scary ghost here,_ she thought. _I already got dibs._

Boone shut the motel room behind him, coming out onto the upper landing. "We're good to go," he said, staring at her.

"You think you'll miss Novac?" Maggie asked, without looking at him.

"No." Boone pushed his rifle onto his shoulder and moved up beside her. "Only came here because Manny asked."

"Would you have gone back to California?" Maggie wondered. She breathed out and straightened herself a little, her palms digging into the rail. "If you never found...?"

"Don't know." Boone stared at her without any expression.

She looked out over the desert, at the mountains in the distance that kept the entire Legion from marching straight across. Why they wanted to take the Dam, not just because of the NCR occupation. Remembered that House had lured the NCR in so they'd take the Dam. _Political_ shit. Shit she wasn't halfway _near,_ even.

Maggie rubbed her nose and sighed, then stood up fully. She patted her side, making sure she had her machete. "Let's beat it," she told Boone, who waited for her to start walking.

He followed her down the stairs and away from the town as the sun rose into the sky over them. The last sun they might ever _see,_ if they couldn't get past the Securitrons in Vegas―shit, ever since she'd been shot in the head she'd had too _many_ opportunities to die.

Hadn't, _yet. **Wouldn't.**_

Maggie looked back at Boone, who glanced out to the east and at the mountains, probably thinking the same thing as she was.

 _Wouldn't_ if she still had as much fucking luck as she had, up 'til now.

* * *

Freeside held surprises. First thing in, Maggie noticed Dixon was gone and was a little disappointed she wasn't gonna get one last smack on the piss-dealing asshole. She also noticed there were a no people on the streets, no drug-addled bums lining the walls or beggars asking for water. Vegas had a lot of freeloaders, usually dealt with by the Kings.

Dealt with didn't mean "disappeared", though. Not seeing anyone out and about was unnerving. Like the world had ended a second time, or something.

Through the second gate, she found a large group of people milling about the road. Maggie frowned and motioned Boone to the side of the street, sticking to the edges of the crowd. She could see a woman in NCR uniform speaking to the group, trying to calm them down or something, and a sizable number of NCR troopers set into strategic positions around the buildings.

She didn't like that. Movement like _that_ meant the NCR was prepared to take military action against the people in Freeside. _...Shit!_ She'd never dealt with that for the King―never talked to the NCR in Freeside for him. After that _bullshit_ with Orris, she'd left town―

Maggie darted over the broken asphalt up to the Kings building and stopped before going inside. Pacer was leaning against the wall, his eyes on the crowd, watching the hubbub. He nodded at Maggie without looking at her, and jerked a thumb toward the door.

"What are we doing," Boone asked, moving into the building with her.

"Trying to stop a _riot,"_ she answered grumpily, and stepped into the theater. The King was seated at his usual place, staring up at the empty stage. There were absolutely no Kings in the room, and none in the lobby either―they were probably out in the crowd or hidden around the street, waiting for the NCR to make a move―shit, _all hell_ was about to break loose in Freeside!

"King," she said, hurriedly. "What in the hell is going _on_ out there?"

He turned his head to her, looking tired, and sighed. "The mess with the squatters got real tight today, Mag." He raised a glass to his mouth and took a long drink, closing his eyes.

Maggie pulled a chair over and sat down, staring at him. "So, what happened?"

King put the glass down on the table with a thump and rubbed his temples with one hand. "NCR man got murdered," he said. "A group of my men were around, found the body. That Major Knight thinks we gutted the man, and her people want justice."

Maggie blinked. _Hell!_ If she'd actually _dealt_ with that―instead of fleeing because of House threatening her― "Why aren't you out there?" she asked, clenching a fist against her knee. "Aren't you supposed to be the _voice_ for them―"

"Mag, justice means they wanna kill me," he said, giving her a defeated look.

"What?" she asked, incredulous. Her eyes darted up to Boone, frowning. _"Why?!"_

"The one what was killed," King said, rubbing the side of his glass, "was one of the soldiers in charge of handing out food and water. Given the beef we've had with them folk..." He looked away, sadly. "NCR people think I ordered the killing."

"But―" Maggie screwed up her face. "Didn't you send someone to talk to the NCR guys, a while ago? Didn't _that_ work out?"

"Reason why I asked you to look into it," King said, going still. "No, it didn't. Found out today the men I sent over didn't do what I asked." He sighed, and closed his eyes. "I'm responsible for my men, even when they don't listen. Gotta... face the music."

"I'm _confused,"_ Maggie said. "What happened?"

The King explained, briefly. He'd sent out some men to talk to the NCR, to work out some kind of truce so the squatters weren't being messed with and the people in Freeside weren't being harassed. After the men got there, they decided it was a wash and started a fight. NCR was angry; and now, with the murder of the soldier and having Kings hanging around the body―

Major Knight had organized an investigation but come up with very little to exonerate the Kings. She was asking the King to speak with her in a public setting, probably setting a trap for him. _Cut off the head of a snake to weaken the body,_ and all that. If the King was gone, the rest of the gang would scatter to the winds or get taken down by NCR soldiers. And Freeside would be lost to one of the armies trying to grab the desert for their own.

But if King went out there, and the Freesiders saw him get arrested―or hell, killed, even―there was gonna be a full-on attack against the NCR in Freeside. The King was the voice of Freeside's common man. Him being gone―Maggie didn't think that was gonna end well _at all_ , especially since House wouldn't see a reason to intervene.

It was what Maggie had been working to prevent, and it had come to head while she was out fixing Boone and finding out she was an _idiot._ She groaned to herself, and rubbed her eyes. Yet another thing that she'd managed to _fuck up,_ and this one made her feel like shit because she'd _promised_ King that she was gonna handle it―

"It's all a show, you know." King turned his glass over and put it upside down on the tabletop, then started to stand up. "They've shown they get a better hand; my cards aren't good enough to win this one. ...Looks like the King will be leaving the building, mama."

"No fucking _way,"_ Maggie stood, putting a hand out and stopping him. "Let me go have a talk with the Major. _I_ _promised you―"_

King looked down at her, then patted her hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate all you've done for me, Mag. Been a real friend. But this is _my_ business, not yours." He moved away, pushing her hand off of him. "You do what _you_ need to do. I do, too."

"I was supposed to help you deal with the NCR to _begin_ with!" she snapped, keeping up with him as he walked out into the lobby. "Why won't you let me _try,_ at least?!"

 _"Mag―"_ King turned to her with the funny little half smile, and she flushed a little at the expression he was wearing for her. "You've done what you can. Man's gotta deal with his own problems if he expects to be let be." He turned to leave, exposing his back to her.

Maggie growled, and grabbed up the nearest thing she could find―a table lamp from the lobby counter―and brought it down onto the back of the King's head as hard as she could manage. King staggered, stepping sideways and starting to fall. Maggie moved up behind him, putting her arms under his armpits and trying to stop him from landing on the floor.

"Boone," she almost yelled, "go out there and get Pacer in here, _right now!"_

As soon as Boone closed the door Maggie kicked the table lamp under a chair to hide it, and lost her footing. She slumped to the ground with the heavy man, his upper body landing on top of her legs. She grunted out a sigh and turned the King awkwardly onto his side, brushing the little pouf of hair on his forehead back into place. "I'm _sorry,_ King," she muttered, "but I _ain't_ letting you go to your death. People 'round here _need_ you."

She ran a hand along his cheek and smiled the same little half-smile he liked to do. "And I ain't got that many people who _want_ to work with me. I'm gonna need your help more than ever, after House is gone."

Pacer stepped into the building, moved the King to a seat against the windows, and glared at Maggie murderously. She squared her shoulders, told Pacer to keep him from going outside, and walked through the door.

This game might be being played by people better than her at gambling, but she was about to ante up _anyway._

* * *

One thing that Maggie _appreciated_ about Boone was that his presence behind her gave her passage where she might not otherwise have it. Just the condition of walking about with a NCR soldier was enough to make the other soldiers show her immediate respect.

Maggie should have milked that for all it was worth, but at this point she was too _fed up_ with everything and everyone to bother. She stomped through the crowd to the middle where Major Knight was standing with two men guarding her, put herself squarely into front of the woman, and caught her attention. The Major's expression once she set her eyes on the short red-haired woman was disgusted and pretty much what Maggie had been aiming for.

"Not that I don't _get_ what's going on, Major, but what do you mean by all this _horseshit?"_ she asked, angrily.

"Stand back, civilian," one of the men said, moving to keep her from engaging the Major. Maggie growled and gave him a mean look. Major Knight paused, then turned to the soldier.

"Wait a minute, private," Major Knight said. "That's the Courier woman."

Maggie moved back forward and brushed off imaginary― _and_ real, damn desert _shit_ ―dirt from her jacket. How did Major Knight know she was―well, she didn't care right now. _I'll figure it out later._

"I get that some shit went down here, today. I wanna know what's going on," she said. "In better _detail."_

Major Knight nodded, slightly. She eyed Maggie tiredly, then moved a little closer. "One of my men was gunned down behind the Atomic Wrangler," she said, in a low voice. "On his way back from a meeting with Francine Garrett. We were... negotiating for better access to supplies, for the Mormon Fort. Trying to make good with the Followers."

Maggie bobbed her head once. "Yeah," she said. Could see that being helpful. The Followers were about the only people everyone could go, without being turned away or considered treasonous or what have you by one's own people. "And the Kings found him, right?"

Major Knight blinked in surprise, then slowly nodded. "Yes, the evidence we'd found on the body led to the Kings being involved."

Maggie put a hand on her hip. "Did you even try to talk to the King about it?" she asked the Major.

The woman nodded. "Our messages... were relayed through his man Pacer," she said, hesitantly.

"Oh, fucking _hell,"_ Maggie muttered, looking at the ground. She remembered how bad Pacer could be. Hadn't spent the better part of two years hanging with the King _not_ to notice his second in charge being all butthurt about the NCR. Hadn't _cared,_ then― _fucking story of my life._

"Look," she said firmly, "he's asked me to handle this. If a King really did kill this soldier, I'll find him for you. But you aren't taking the King out of Freeside, no way no how. This place _needs_ him."

Major Knight stood up a little straighter, staring at Maggie. She had a few inches on her, and Maggie tried not to let that bother her―the soldier woman gave her a critical look for a long moment, then glanced up at Boone and back to Maggie. "A murderer to find a murderer?" she asked, somewhat coldly. "Seems... _appropriate."_

Maggie ground her teeth into each other, trying not to say what she wanted to. "Doubt you folk are much _better,"_ she mumbled, instead, and kept her eyes on the woman.

"I'll give you an hour," Major Knight said, her voice strict. "Find the real culprit, or I'll be forced to send soldiers into the building and remove the King to face justice for the actions of his people. I can't offer him anything more than that."

Maggie grunted an agreement, turned on one heel, and strode away into the crowd. This was going be _proof_ she knew how to ante up, like the King had suggested, before.


	44. All Advice Taken

Note; My official longest fanfiction. Hold me. I'm _scared._

Chalk this part up to "oops mama forgot another plotline that needed to be closed up and she just now remembered that shit" -itis. Sorry.

* * *

Maggie was muttering under her breath at as she hit the side street that led to the Atomic Wrangler and the Silver Rush, moving through the large crowd without care as to who she bumped into. Boone kept up with her easily, only stopping when she opened the door to the Wrangler. He grabbed the door and held it for her, but she didn't even glance up at him. Just kept her eyes on her goal which he assumed was to speak with one of the Garretts, because that was immediately where she went.

She walked up to the bar, settled herself on a stool, and scrounged in a pocket for a moment. Francine watched her with a bored look across her wide face, until Maggie drew out a handful of caps and thumped it onto the table. "I need information," she told the barkeep. _"Anything_ you know about this man who was murdered."

Francine's eyebrows rose almost unnoticeably, and she put the rag she was using to clean the counter to the side. Laid her palms onto the counter and leaned over it a little, pursing her mouth and staring at the caps.

"Well," she said, after a long think, "I can't say anything about the man, myself. James and I hadn't seen him before, when he came to talk with me." She nodded to the man, who was joining her at the counter.

"Nah, he never came through here before," James said. "I'd remember that accent. Sounded like someone swallowed a bloatfly."

Maggie flicked her eyes between the two of them, narrowing them at the woman. "That's all? _Nothing_ else?"

Francine swept up the caps from the counter and swiftly deposited them into a register, smiling in a small way. "Listen, Mag," she said, and turned back. "I've told you what I know. You're a good customer. I'm not gonna lie and give you a half-truth. You barely come 'round anymore, as it is."

Maggie sighed through her nose. "Life gets real busy when you're tracking down your own _murderer,"_ she muttered, to the side. Boone watched her face from the side, seeing her eyes cloud up with emotion.

"Didn't that soldier get killed out back?" James asked, turning slightly to Francine. "Around the corner, I mean."

 _"Yes,"_ Maggie said, through her teeth. She was real agitated by the whole situation. Boone understood why. The King was a friend, and she'd made him a promise; to see him stepping into a potentially deadly situation because she _failed_ him in that promise―he himself had felt the same way about Maggie. If he'd not managed to keep his shit together and keep his _own_ promise, he might not even be here to watch her struggling with hers.

Didn't want to see her as angry as she was. Her eyes were outright hostile now, but she was doing a pretty good job of hiding it in her voice. Almost admirably, allowing for Maggie's explosive temper. He hazarded a tiny twitch of a smile at that. Maggie, showing self-restraint again. She'd learned _something_ from their countless shenanigans out in the desert.

"Would Bill or Jacob know something?" James asked Francine, holding a hand under his chin. "One of those two hangs out in that building back there, all the time. Can't remember which one."

Maggie stood up without a word, marching over the floor and slamming the door open to the outside. Boone followed her, watching her stomp down the street to a ruined building. She paused for a moment, eyeing up a bloodstain, and moved into the open front. No one was inside the place except for them.

A clinking noise and her foot hit an empty whiskey bottle. Maggie's eyes dropped to the bottle, and she stooped to pick it up, holding it up and sniffing the contents. Boone watched her make a terrible face, then turn and throw the bottle into the wall.

"Fucking _Dixon!"_ she snapped, rubbing her nose on her sleeve as if to wipe it clean of the smell. She stared at the bloodstain for a moment longer, then looked up at Boone and a malicious smile tugged at her face.

 _"Not_ it," he muttered, looking up and away from her.

"Hah," she laughed, looking more satisfied with herself than she had in a long time. "C'mon, let's go find that mangy bastard. I finally got a _damn_ good reason to put a _boot_ to his nuts."

"What do you mean?" Boone asked her, as she opened a door in the back of the ruined building.

"Well," Maggie said, stepping through to the other side of Freeside, "If Bill or Jacob was out here drinking, or _what have you,_ and Dixon's gone missing―I didn't see him out there in the _crowd,_ neither―it's likely he's gone underground to hide." She grinned. "If he's _hiding,_ he probably knows something that Bill or Jacob told him―" Maggie made a fist and shook it, chuckling. "I fucking _love_ a good excuse for violence!"

Boone shook his head at her, but didn't say a word as she led him around Freeside. _Another Maggie plan._

* * *

The first thing she did was look into the Old Mormon Fort and get information about the two addicts. She explained it to Boone on the way, grumbling that it would be quicker and easier to find the two men. "They're not likely to disappear like Dixon would, much as I wanna _skin_ that _asshole,"_ she muttered, kicking out a foot in anger and launching a tin can down the street.

"You're not _going_ to," Boone said, shaking his head.

"Don't you _judge._ You ain't had to come down from Dixon's fucking _'piss-key'_." Maggie shuddered and one hand went to her shoulder, fingernails digging into her jacket. Boone moved closer, ran a gentle hand along her back, and opened the door to the Old Mormon Fort for her.

One inside, she had a heated conversation with a woman named Julie. Julie dropped hints into the talk about Maggie's own like for drink―and Maggie redirected her like a sledgehammer to the head, turning her right back onto the locations of Bill or Jacob. She was in no mood to pussyfoot about.

Turned out the men were hiding out in the Old Mormon Fort itself. Both were balding older men who really didn't look that much different than one another. Boone could see why James Garrett wouldn't know the one from the other.

Maggie spent a few moments talking to the men, culminating in a sharp verbal bitch-slap which left them both shaken and cowering. A side of Maggie that hadn't shown yet; her actually _being_ in charge, instead of saying she was. Boone watched with some interest, but found it wasn't to his liking.

Honestly, he preferred the clumsy machinations of angry Maggie better. Couldn't say that to her face, he knew. Was pretty sure this new side of her was something she was trying to make work; something that she wanted to do because she felt she _needed_ to. Maggie being serious was a little disappointing. She wasn't showing any of that...

That _raw_ angry cuteness that he'd seen in her, before. The strained patience and the weepy vulnerability that let him open up to her and find some kind of inner peace. The threats that weren't really threats. He'd enjoyed that side of Maggie.

Right now, she felt like... _Carla._ All business and hard words, but more honest, in a way. Had a determined look like he'd seen so many times before on Carla's face. Walked in a more confident manner, spoke with more authority.

For the longest time Boone had ignored that Maggie was virtually identical to her sister. _His wife._ Suddenly, he was reminded again―

It made him uneasy. Hadn't thought he'd be intimidated by _Maggie._ She was right, she was _sometimes_ useless and she'd been raised to―he looked away, feeling the old shame. That was the past and she saw fit to look past it, so he ought to. Ought to stop remembering how bad things had been between them.

Boone watched her talking to Julie again, explaining the problem. Julie had no reason to dislike the Kings other than their "exclusionist attitude" as she put it―a term which drew a funny look from Maggie's face. Made him feel a little better to know the old Maggie was still in there. _Still..._ he knocked himself in the head, mentally.

She _was_ still Maggie. He only saw Carla in the family resemblance.

God, he missed her. Boone breathed out, looking away from Maggie. Told Maggie he wanted to let go, but here he was thinking about it again. She'd probably pick another fight, if he let on.

He'd _never_ forget, though. Not carrying around her death, carrying around... He sighed. But he'd not had any bad karma while Maggie was around―Maggie had soaked it up for him. Taken the hits for her own karma, and his, too. She was worth any anguish he might feel. And she was damned lucky she hadn't been killed by his karma.

 _Like Carla._ Boone wanted to wrap his arms around Maggie and make the pain go away. Couldn't. But wanted to.

Maggie stormed out of the Old Mormon Fort with a flounce of that red hair and her eyes on fire. The same as ever. Boone followed behind her, trying to balance a measure of sadness with the cheer brought on by the funny way Maggie acted sometimes.

 _He_ was damned lucky he'd been able to talk her into keeping him around.

* * *

Maggie paused before she reached the Kings building again, staring out at a dozen-fewer people milling about, and Boone kept a close eye on the throng. He suspected she was right in that a riot was about to begin. The overall noise level of the crowd had raised in their absence, and he shot Maggie a concerned look.

She rubbed her forehead, muttered something to herself, and jerked the door open to the lobby. "Hey!" she shouted into the room. _"Pacer!_ The _fuck_ are you!"

There was no answer. Maggie pulled her shotgun, cracked it, and checked the shells. "Buckle up, Boone," she said, angrily. "We're gonna have to run him down."

Boone shot her a confused glance. "What?"

"Look, you obviously weren't _listening,_ back there. Let's just say Pacer's one of them folks who enjoy a _Maggie_ solution to a problem," she said, putting her shotgun up on her shoulder. _"C'mon."_

Maggie stalked through the place, looking around corners with her shotgun out, lowering it in disappointment more than once. "Where the fuck _is_ that rat," she growled, after they'd finished the sweep of the second floor.

"Where is the King, too," Boone reminded her. "Haven't seen him, either."

Maggie stopped in mid-stride, and chuckled. "Shit," she laughed, under her breath. She smacked herself in the forehead. _"Hell!_ Pacer probably put him up in his bedroom." She held the shotgun up. "Let's go."

Boone took the stairs two at a time behind Maggie, who picked up speed as they moved up another flight. She led him directly to a large room decked out with a billiard table and jukebox. Maggie swept the shotgun around the room and moved toward a closed door on the other side. Held her finger up to her mouth, shushing him, and his mouth twitched in a smile.

As if _he_ needed lesson in being quiet. Boone gripped his rifle a little tighter and moved a hand out to run a thumb along her cheek, quickly. Maggie shot him a glare. A trademarked _Maggie_ glare, which meant absolutely nothing.

He really liked her better that way. When she wasn't angry, even if she acted that way.

Maggie mouthed _"one, two, three"_ and burst into the room, aiming her shotgun with one hand and grabbing at her machete with the other one.

"Mag― _what the hell?"_ the King said, sitting upright in his bed.

"Where the _hell_ is _Pacer?"_ Maggie asked, her head turning to look around the room.

The King blinked in confusion. "Mag, _what the hell_ are you doing? What's going _on?"_

Maggie strode across the room and jerked open the opposite door, pushing her shotgun out into the hallway. "Shit!" she muttered, moving away from the door and looking at the King. "Seriously, King, _where_ _is Pacer?"_

The King watched her with a curious look on her face. "Why're you so keen on finding him, mama?" he asked, his words a little harder, face a little more set.

 _"Pacer_ murdered the NCR soldier," Maggie told him, point-blank. "One of the local drunks caught some of the action, said Pacer got into a fight with the man about the NCR in Freeside―" she grimaced. "You and I _both_ know Pacer ain't the _hottest_ on the NCR to _begin with,_ King. _Where is he?"_

"Mag, no matter what he might have done, I ain't giving up Pace to the NCR," King said, moving his legs off of the bed and moving to the edge. "There's gotta be _some_ reason―"

"Keep telling yourself _that,"_ Maggie muttered. "I know _all too well_ how the people you love can _fuck_ you. Pacer didn't say a goddamn _word_ about it―he was gonna let _you_ walk out and get your _ass_ _handed to you_ ―and even if he _tried_ to fight off the NCR when they came to get you, people _still_ would have died!" She rested the barrel of the shotgun across her free hand and stared down at the black-haired gang leader.

Boone knew what she was saying, was true. He spoke up, calmly. "Major Knight is NCR. She's allowed to request extra troops, in order to quell a civil uprising," he said, looking at the King. "If the Kings were to provoke a fight with the NCR, General Moore would send men to march through the streets. And..." he looked down, still feeling the guilt of what he'd done. "They won't think twice about ordering troops to shoot down innocents."

 _"One man,_ King. One man, and you can save the rest." Maggie held up a finger, moving closer to the bed. "I know that man is _Pacer._ I _know_ how you feel. But he went against _your_ orders, _and_ he riled up the mob out there. He's brought the NCR down on _Freeside,_ and I can't defend _you_ like you defended _me_ ―this ain't one person to fight for, or even a few people against one _dickhead;_ this is a _whole goddamn army_ on a bunch of _city folk_ who ain't exactly prepared for a _military invasion!"_

The King looked up at Boone first, with a thoughtful look on his face, then switched to Maggie. "You ain't turning _tail_ on me, Mag―" he started, with a slight gesture to Boone.

 _"Fuck, **no!"**_ she snapped. "I'm for Vegas being _free,_ no matter what! But I don't wanna make no _enemies_ if I don't have to, and if I don't have to chase NCR _fuckers_ out of Freeside―I'll be _tickled fucking pink!"_ she stressed. She rolled her eyes at the King.

"If you were to turn Pacer in," Boone added, waiting to speak until the man turned back to him, "He'd likely serve time in a civilian prison. He didn't plan the murder, right?" Maggie nodded, looking sharply at Boone. "And... Major Knight might try to work for Freeside's benefit. If you work _with_ the NCR. If you show willing."

King mulled that over for a moment, and Maggie was about to open her mouth again when the man stood up, rubbing the back of his head. "Alright, Mag," he said, sounding tired. He motioned for them to follow him, and approached a room down the hallway.

"Pace," he rumbled, knocking gently on the door. "I need a talk."

When Pacer opened the door to see what the King wanted, Maggie kicked it all the way open and bashed Pacer in the head with her shotgun butt. _"Sorry,_ man," she muttered. "I don't got much time left for this _shit."_

It was... _one_ way, to solve a problem. Boone sighed, and helped her carry the unconscious man down two flights of stairs and out of the building.


	45. The Real Queen

Note: The grand edit is complete! For now. We'll see how this goes.

A story: Would've had this done earlier but I was writing on the porch and my very own Maggie (stray cat) wandered up, so I spent some time figuring her out. Hopeful to see Maggie finishing up here. Not yet the end. _Maybe._

* * *

Night was falling over New Vegas. The casinos turned on their lights, glowing like an unworldly oasis against the pitch black sky. It was hard to imagine that some ten years earlier, the Strip was dark and dead. When the desert tribes moved in, it had been like Heaven opened the gates to them.

Maggie would never forget the first time she'd seen the lights come on. Back in the day when seeing the lights come on was the best feeling in the _world_ ―when it meant she could go out of the Gomorrah, run about the Strip, and didn't have to come back until there was sunlight in the sky. When the Strip was _truly_ Heaven for her.

The lights being on meant Sal shouldn't be watching her and Carla, and if he _was_ suspicious of them... hah, she remembered a couple times Sal followed them right up to the doors and stopped them. Carla could sweet-talk anyone in helping them get out of the casino, except for Sal. But they'd always gotten free, even when Sal caught them and made them go back. It was only a matter of time and Carla's silver tongue.

Days like _that_ would never happen again. She tried to remember them before she fucking forgot, what with the stress of this new business and what felt like impending _doom._ Everything was so different now, but it really... _hell,_ it kind of reminded her of what had happened when she married Benny.

Walking into a different world and making absolutely no friends because she was such a hard person to deal with. Even all the patience that Swank had was lost on her, now. Everyone wanting her dead was so different than lonely old Maggie wandering the streets of New Vegas like a stray cat, all scratch and no bite.

Hah, but now she finally had a _use_ for those damn claws.

Major Knight dealt with Pacer the only way Maggie'd expected. Executed him right on the spot. After a minor scuffle between some Freesiders with ideals and Maggie's machete being brandished, the situation was peachy _keen._ Maggie was surprised as how easily placated the NCR was. Suspicious, too, but Boone explained to her that sometimes... all you needed was a gesture to make things right, and the world would fall into place.

Him and his stupid goofy smile, _too._ She knew what he was saying. Hell, maybe she _was_ getting smarter. Still didn't know if she could stand his lovey-dovey stuff reminding her.

The ending being what it was, she wasn't so surprised when the King didn't want to talk to her. She was pissed that she no longer had an ally in Freeside. But―the King was alive, at least, and all the people he watched out for were safe. It was worth a miffed compatriot for that. He'd come around... eventually, if she was able to survive the coming mess.

Maggie was sitting on a car hood with her legs spread out and her hands between her thighs, leaning forward and staring at the Strip Gate like she wanted to be _anywhere_ else. Boone was thumbing his bandoleer, acting twitchy; he was ready to get the horseshit with House over with and done. Maggie... _Maggie_ just wanted to turn around and _walk away._

Just like when she'd first met him and she hadn't wanted to come up here to deal with Benny. She couldn't tell Boone _that,_ though. There was too much shit at stake for her to duck and run, including her own life, and too much responsibility to _shirk._ Too much to lose, too much to gain, too much to pretend she cared about when she'd rather be holed up in some _dumb_ _little town_ living with Boone under an assumed name and a sturdy table on which to―

 _Hell!_ Maggie turned her head away and shook the thought loose. _Dumbass horny brain,_ she told herself. _Shut the fuck up and think about all those fights you're gonna lose, or some shit like that. All them assholes left unpunched. You don't make it through, you're never gonna be able to skin Dixon alive, like you want!_

Well. That didn't sound much like what she _wanted,_ letting things lie. Dixon was still off somewhere hidden, and she really _did_ want to boot his nuts until he sang soprano.

Maggie uncurled a fist and laid it flat on the car hood. "Boone," she said, firmly. He turned his head to look at her but didn't reply. "You ready to play our hand?" she asked, staring up at the Lucky 38 over the Strip walls.

Fucking dumbass _poker_ references, too. She rolled her eyes at herself. It was too easy to talk that sort of shit. She knew she'd picked up a lot of that from Benny, too. It was all about how you _acted,_ with the Chairmen.

"I'm ready," Boone said, moving closer. He held out a hand to her, and helped her down off the car. He didn't let go of her hand. She didn't, _either._

Maggie brushed dirt off of her ass with one hand and sighed. She fingered the jacket of the outfit she'd stolen off the NCR ranger out at Hidden Valley. She shoulda― _shit._ She wouldn't have been able to, anyway. _Shoulda_ gone back that afternoon and gotten her leather armor, after that bullshit with Orris. Had been too upset to bother. Fuck, she really should have brought that shit with her! _Dumbass Maggie strikes again._

"Wish I had my leather," she muttered, under her breath.

"I got you," Boone said, quietly, his hand tightening on hers. He stared at her, smiling confidently. Maggie gave him a small and pathetic smile in return.

"I know," she said. "Alright..." She looked up at him, tiredly. "Let's go. House isn't going to scrape himself out of that monitor by _himself."_

* * *

What she'd expected was, of course, not the same as what happened. Maggie expected the Securitrons to open fire on them as soon as they got within range of the gate. Didn't happen. She passed through the gate with a nervous and furtive look at the robots, and _nothing_ came of it.

Maggie was confused. She paused after getting onto the Strip and moved to the right, toward Gomorrah. Looked up at the Lucky 38 and rubbed her eyes, wondering if House was―was he waiting for her to show up and _then_ he'd try to kill her?

"How are you getting me into the penthouse?" Boone asked, moving a hand to her back and touching her gently. "I'm not supposed to be in there."

Maggie shrugged. "I figured we'd wing it," she muttered, tucking her lip into her teeth. _"Uhh."_

"What's up?"

 _"Well..._ _shit,_ I figured these robots were gonna shoot at us, and now... I dunno _what_ to think." Maggie looked to the side, away from him. "I mean, House _knows_ we're coming by now, but he's not _doing_ anything. Hasn't even set up a checkpoint to stop us."

Boone turned his head and looked up at the casino. "Yeah," he agreed. "Does seem strange."

"Think we're walking into a _trap?"_ she asked, running her hand up his arm and giving his ear a tug. He made a face and released his hand from her back. Maggie breathed a little easier. It was _really_ hard to concentrate when he was touching her. Her face reddened a little. _Not that I don't like it._

Boone stared at Lucky 38 for a moment, nothing on his face. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "What do _you_ think?"

Maggie growled. "I asked _you,_ jerk!"

"I think it _feels_ like a trap," he said, his mouth twitching. Maggie scowled at him.

"Well, _shit,"_ she grumbled again, staring up at the casino. "What do we do about that?"

Boone chuckled and thumbed at her cheek for a second before moving away from her. _"Maggie,"_ he said, looking over her shoulder. "Maybe you ought to go say goodbye?"

Maggie turned her head abruptly and saw Sal leaning against the door of the Gomorrah, staring at her with a cigarette in his mouth and his hat pushed down on his head. She scowled at him. _Stupid asshole._ Like she was gonna listen to anything _he_ had to say.

 _"No,_ I'm good," she told Boone, and stood up straighter. "Let's go."

One foot in front of the other, she marched across the road and under the awning over the casino, jerking the door open.

* * *

"If anything starts _shooting_ at me in there, you run in and _help_ me," Maggie said, scratching her neck and watching the lights in the elevator. "I don't think we have to worry about _missiles_ or nothing. Don't think he'd be that stupid, to shoot up his own place with explosive _shit."_

"Sounds like..." Boone said, then chuckled. "A _Maggie_ plan?"

She punched him in the shoulder, and he groaned. Smiling and making pretend pain noises. She punched him harder for that and he wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her closer, kissing her.

 _"Mffttt!"_ Maggie said, pinching him on the side and making him let go.

 _"Ow,"_ he said, laughing and holding his side.

 _"You_ started that one," she growled. "Quit being a jerk and _focus._ This is big-time shit, _Craig."_

"My eyes are on," he said, but he was staring at her.

 _"Ohh,_ I swear to _God!"_ she griped, pushing him backward by his face as she left the elevator. Boone only smiled under her hand and raised an eyebrow at her.

Maggie marched down the stairs, slipping on the last two and skidding to the floor. She straightened herself out, brushed off her jacket and flicked at her hair, before she walked up to the monitor and tapped her foot impatiently.

 _"Magdalene._ What a pleasure." Yeah, he was angry at her.

She curled her lip and tried not to let herself fly off the handle. "Yeah, _no,_ you know _why_ I'm here, House."

"I do. I doubt you'll find yourself able to perform whatever judicial action you _intend."_ House's face on the monitor was ever the same, and Maggie stared at it grumpily. "I see that you've visited Hidden Valley. Tell me, how _is_ the Brotherhood holding up in their forced exile?"

" 'Bout as well as you'd _expect,"_ she muttered. "Look, I ain't _playing_ here. I'm gonna get into your shit, you _know_ that. I might not know computers but I'll get in there and I'm gonna fuck up your programming _so bad―"_

House laughed at her. So fucking _full_ of himself. Maggie narrowed her eyes at the monitor. "Oh, Magdalene." He sighed. "I can't reach through this monitor and compel you to follow instructions, but know this―if you disappoint me, you _will_ pay for it."

Maggie huffed, turned on one heel and moved to the bookcase where the terminal was. If he was gonna bandy about like _that,_ she was just gonna have to prove him _wrong._ She pulled out the chip, considered it for a moment, and placed it into the terminal.

 _Shit, Maggie, how'd you miss that?_ Fucking had a special slot for it and everything. She looked at the screen and screwed up her face, then selected an option.

The first indication of a problem was the wall being sprayed with bullets near her, as she watched the wall open to a hidden room. Maggie swore and ducked, spinning into the little room and hitting the floor in a slide. Every single Securitron in the penthouse was shooting at her―

Well, she'd expected _that!_ She grunted in pain, moving to the elevator. _Fucking asshole House,_ she thought. He musta taken her threat seriously!

Maggie grinned to herself, slamming a hand into the elevator controls, but it was gone when she fell through the doors. _Not-At-Home finally got the fucking message!_ But― _fuck,_ where was _Boone?_ He hadn't come to help her like she'd _asked―_

Well, it wouldn't be the first time she had to do something on her own. This was _her_ fight. Not Boone's. _Her_ fight and _her_ town and _her_ place _to be._ She wasn't even that _worried,_ even as blood streamed from her side and legs. Once those Securitrons were _hers_ ―her face creased in a grin, again.

The blood that was spilled sure as hell wasn't gonna be _hers,_ when she was in control.

Maggie pressed a hand into her side and limped out of the doors when the car stopped. Some... kind of _behind-the-scenes_ floor, with an unfinished walkway. Looked like the laundry at the Gomorrah. Heavy duty pipes and steamy shit. She looked down the catwalk and frowned.

Only one way to go. Dragged herself down to the end where a―

Holy shit, _what the fuck was that._

Maggie moved past the terminal and to a capsule on the end of the walk, staring down into it. Some... really, _really, really old fucker―_

She thumped the glass loudly, leaving a blood trail. _"Hey!"_ she yelled, and put her hands over her face to peer into the glass. Some really _naked_ old fucker lying in the capsule, barely breathing. Maggie could see the long white beard and― _oh, gross, ear hair, hah._ She grinned, backed up a bit, and looked at the terminal. Pressed a button, watched what happened.

Seals released and opened, and Maggie watched the capsule being moved into an upright position. She tapped the floor with her foot once, impatiently, wincing in pain at the bullets in her knee. _Goddamn fucking robot assholes._

"Why have you... done this?... _centuries_ of preparation... so much good, _undone..."_

Maggie studied him for a moment, screwing up her mouth and wondering. _This_ was House? Why―why would anyone do― _that_ ―on purpose?

To live _forever?_ For at least two hundred years, anyway. To... try to fix the _world?_ Maggie scoffed to herself. Man, if _that_ was what it was like to live forever, she'd rather be a _ghost._ Not end up like some kind of... refrigerated _man-jerky._

She moved to the capsule and looked at him. _"Damn..."_ she said, scratching her head. "And I thought _Benny_ was ugly." She grinned, and opened the throttle.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" she asked him. "Are you _serious?_ This―" her hand swept out over the room. _"This_ is Mr. House! _This_ is the man who talked Benny into bringing up all the tribes to New Vegas so he could make the world a _better_ place?"

House wheezed in the tube, arms shaking. Maggie squished her face against it, peering in at him. _"This_ is the power behind _Vegas?_ Some crumbly old man with a _metal diaper?"_ She shook her head in disgust. "Shit, I'm glad I never liked you _anyway!"_

 _"Fool..._ to let... personalities... derail future... of mankind? ...Stupid!" he rasped.

Maggie stepped back and put her hands on her hips. "Well, _shit,_ Mr. House. You think everyone's gonna get along all _nice-like?_ We're _people,_ man. You lived through that shit _before_ the War, didn't you? You know what it's like, people fucking you over for whatever they can _get."_

House wheezed loudly. "Go... to hell..." he started, and she shook her head again.

"No, Mr. House," she said, smiling at him. "No, I don't think I'm gonna go to hell anymore. I got somewhere a lot _nicer,_ to go."

"...You sad, misguided... _whore,"_ he finished.

"Yeah, Mr. House," Maggie said, her hand hovering over the keys of the terminal. She dropped her finger.

"I'm the whore _queen."_


	46. One Man, No More

Note: I still have no idea where the end of this thing is. Not sure about how far things can go. You guys really have to let me know what you're looking for, I'm honestly baffled. Content warning: Big Sal and Maggie have another talk. _Much_ swearing.

* * *

 _"Where the hell were you?!"_

She'd come back up and out of the secret room, only to find Boone standing in the middle of the penthouse with his arms crossed and staring at her. Maggie growled at him, and he shrugged.

"House locked the place down," he said, staring at her. "I was stuck in the elevator."

"Fucking _figures,"_ she muttered, and limped her way across the room to a couch.

"You took it out?" he asked, following her.

"I _killed_ him, if that's what you mean." Maggie groaned and lowered herself onto a cushion, then leaned back and sighed. "House is dead, _whoopee."_ She twirled a finger in the air.

"Not a computer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he moved to look at her knee. Maggie grimaced and jerked as his hands ran over her skin, tickling her.

"Not a computer. Just some... really fucking _old_ man in a fridge, waiting for the day when he could finally die." She hissed in pain. _"Ow!"_

Boone let her go and looked up at her. "What happens now?" he asked, opening a pocket on his jacket.

"I have no fucking _clue,"_ she groaned. "I can't think straight, right now. Lemme 'lone."

Boone chuckled a little. "Do you want me to fix your leg?"

"Just hit me with a goddamn stimpak, already," she muttered, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the monitor on the big screen where House used to be had lit up and was showing that funny smiley face from Yes Man, and Maggie blinked. Outside of the windows, the sun was rising, and the lights on the Strip were gone. _Shit,_ how long did she sleep? And what the hell was up with Yes Man, him being―wait, _no,_ she remembered that part. _Dammit, Maggie, get your shit together._

Boone was sleeping beside her―actually _on_ her, his head lying across her thigh and one hand holding hers. She blinked out the rest of the sleep and stared at him. He coulda gone up to the suite but he'd chosen to stay by her side.

Maggie smiled, and rubbed his scalp, feeling the rough stubble. "Wake up," she said, patting his chest roughly. "C'mon, man, time to get up."

Boone grumbled something and pushed her hand off of his chest, throwing an arm over his head. Maggie screwed up her mouth. _Never met anyone so damn reluctant to wake up,_ she thought, poking him in the armpit and frowning at his jerky reaction. "Fucking hell, _Craig,_ let me get up!" she grumbled, and shoved him roughly.

It took her about fifteen minutes to get him up off her leg, at which point she made her way over to the monitor and rubbed her neck. "Yes Man, hey," she said, coughing a little from her dry throat. "How'd your... how'd your _thing_ go?"

"Fine and dandy, boss lady!" he rang out, and Maggie winced. Boone groaned, pushing himself up from the couch cushion. "I'm all set to start defending Vegas, any time you want it!"

"Okay." She sighed. "No problems with getting in there, then?"

"None at all, ma'am!" he said, and she rolled her eyes. Why the hell Benny made himself a Securitron with such a happy personality―she'd never know. He'd never acted like that. Yes Man was like―she laughed a little. A bit like _Swank,_ now that she came to think about it.

Go fucking figure the "Ben-Man" would make himself a robot that acted like the person he trusted most in the world. Couldn't blame him; but she wondered what woulda happened if he'd made it based on her.

Damn thing wouldn't do anything at all, she expected. Maggie grinned and fought a laugh. "Alright, so what now?" she wondered, as Boone came up behind her. He patted her shoulder, and stood quietly, watching her.

 _"Well―"_ Yes Man paused and Maggie rubbed her eyes, fighting a yawn. It hadn't been that exhausting of a day, had it? Between all the shit in Freeside, and her little escapade with House that took all of fifteen minutes―

She snorted, and crossed her arms. "Spill it, Yes Man."

"Well, I could tell you what you want to hear," the monitor said. "But I doubt it would turn out happy in the end."

Maggie nodded. _Par for the fucking course, then._ "Yeah, so what _don't_ I want to hear?"

"There's a lot of work we still gotta do, if you want New Vegas safe," Yes Man said. "I can tell you all the things that need done."

"Boone," Maggie said, looking back at him. "You up for this?"

"Always, Maggie," he replied, smiling at her. "...Can't be any worse than what's already happened."

 _"Pssh,"_ she said, looking up at the ceiling. "It can _always_ be worse."

* * *

Always. Fucking hell, she wished she weren't _right_ about things, sometimes. Maggie spent the afternoon trying to figure out a few things―a few things that were supposed to be so damn _important_ to Vegas―

Like how she was supposed to double check on the Omertas and make sure they weren't planning nothing, _fuck,_ she didn't wanna go talk to Sal. Or how she had to do a welfare check on Swank. _Hoo-fucking-ray_ for him, he got to be boss of the Chairmen. Took her damn job, that rat.

She didn't _want_ it anymore, but it was the principle of the matter.

And then... something she _really_ didn't want to do, but she had to: She had to visit the Ultra-Luxe and make sure the White Glove Society wasn't up to something, either.

 _Goddamn cannibals._ Maggie shuddered in the elevator, on her way down. Boone was watching her the whole time, never said a word. Maybe he didn't get that the White Gloves _were_ the cannibals, back in the day. Maybe he thought she was dumb to think like she did.

If that was the case, he already knew she wasn't gonna pull a punch on him just because he was sleeping with her. Maggie closed her eyes, rubbed the old bullet wound, and tried to think straighter.

 _Might as well start with Home Sweet Hell, then._

* * *

Gomorrah. Maggie, wearing bloody clothes and growling at the door man, got an immediate audience with Sal. Sal gave her a glance that looked like she'd just rolled in a big pile of Bighorner shit, and waved her into his office.

"Didn't think I'd see you again, Mag," he said, sitting behind his desk and staring at her without blinking. "You being such a fucking big-wig 'round here, anymore, I thought you ain't got _time_ for dear old dad."

Maggie rolled her eyes at him. "I don't," she replied. "I'm here on _business."_

"What business." He stared at her, then turned his head to Boone and narrowed his eyes. "This asshole gonna take you off the Strip, too? I'm actually getting proper fucking _respect,_ this time, you gonna _tell_ me 'bout it? Or is it you gotta tell me you're knocking boots and I got a fucking chip off the old block coming." Sal lit a cigarette and leaned back as she waited for him to finish his tirade. "Ain't _no one_ putting up with your ass unless they're getting some. Soldier boys _included."_

Maggie lost her words for a moment. Old habits died _hard._ Man, wasn't that long ago that she would have been shaking in her fucking boots, talking to him. Waiting for him to smack her and send her away.

"If that's the case, you're naming it after me," he said, grunting and coughing up smoke. "I _deserve_ a fucking namesake, having to put up with yours and your goddamn sister's _horseshit_ for so long."

Same old Sal, as nasty as always. Maggie stared at him for a moment, before replying. "I ain't the _type,"_ she said, pointedly, "to haul some snot-nosed little shit around Vegas, like _you_ did―"

"You don't give _no fucking respect,"_ Sal said, interrupting her. "Same _shit,_ different day! I _know_ you ain't _that_ _fucking stupid,_ come in here and act all tough _shit_ to me. _Now,_ you shut your _fucking mouth,_ _little girl―"_

"I ain't _scared_ of you anymore, Sal!" she shrieked, throwing a hand in his face. _"You_ _ain't the goddamn_ _boss of me!_ _**I'm the goddamn boss of me!"**_

Sal's eyebrow twitched once, and Maggie damn near fainted because the old bastard _smiled_ at her. _Smiled._ Like he was fucking _proud_ of her for being the most uppity, most rude, most _asshole_ daughter in the world.

"Huh," he said, and his mouth curled up in a grin. "Guess you _did_ learn something from me."

"You gonna let me talk this business shit, or _what?"_ Maggie snapped, her voice tightening. Didn't need to drag up old feelings. Like how she'd figured out he did care. And how _confused_ that made her. Her mom was the _Good,_ so Sal had to be the _Evil_ in that tree and Maggie... Maggie ate the _fucking fruit._

"Oughta get the Family business out of the way first," he answered. He cracked his neck and turned his head to Boone. "She tried to kill you yet?"

"Twice," he said, very quietly.

Sal laughed, honestly amused. Maggie clenched her fists and fought the urge to hit him. "I ain't here to _play patty-cake!"_ she yelled.

"I'll play patty-cake with _your fucking head and a wall_ if you don't _calm the fuck down,_ Mag," Sal said, very seriously. _"You_ and your fucking _temper."_

There was an awkward silence. Maggie staring at Sal staring at her, and Boone staring at the cracked walls because he had no clue whatsoever what the _hell_ was going on.

She almost felt bad for him. _Almost._ Being around Sal again only reminded her of all the bad shit that'd happened. Made her skin crawl.

"I'm real fucking close to actually finishing Nero's plan," she said, slowly. "I got the pieces all in play. For real taking over the Strip. Only reason I'm in _here,_ stinking up your little playhouse, is because I need to know you're not gonna try to fuck anything _up."_

"You said that before," Sal said, putting out his cigarette. "I told you, I didn't do no plans about Carla. The thing with the Legion was Nero. Him and _his_ horseshit plans." He stilled his hand on the ashes, and looked up at her. "I'll back you, Mag."

"No more gun smuggling?" she asked, icily.

"Sold it off, already," Sal replied, leaning back in his chair. "The fuckers Nero had up here been dealt with. Didn't like that Clanden fuck from the start." Sal frowned.

"I'm trusting you, Sal," Maggie said, seriously. "Every other guy I know tried to fuck me over somehow. You better not, _either."_

Sal raised an eyebrow and his eyes twitched slightly in Boone's direction. Maggie looked away and scoffed. Let him make of that what he wanted, she didn't care. Boone wasn't in danger, not so long as he stayed the fuck out of Gomorrah.

"Whatever you want, Mag." Sal put a hand under his hat and scratched his forehead.

 _"Good."_ She turned and grabbed Boone's arm, and hauled him away down the stairs through Zoara.

Boone chuckled under his breath. Maggie shook her head. "Don't even worry about him," she muttered. "He's not _worth_ it."

"It explains a lot, is all," Boone said, his mouth twitching. "You're a lot like your dad."

"Don't fucking _remind_ me," she replied, as they left Gomorrah.

* * *

Swank, the little cocksucker, stared up at her from behind the counter at the Tops with his chin in his hand and his elbow on the surface, eyes lit up and face in a genuine smile. When Maggie finished her swearing he closed his eyes and he sighed.

"Music to my _ears,_ baby doll," he said.

Acting all moony, and shit. Maggie glared at him. "The hell is wrong with you?" she hissed.

"Maggie, I never did care that Benny married you. I'm glad he did," Swank replied. "Think if he'd given you half a chance, he'd be surprised. Don't know why he _ever_ tried to kill you."

"He was gonna give me a divorce," she snapped. "Only his marriage license read _'til death do we part,_ and I'm not a real strong reader."

Swank laughed. "I got your back, Mag."

"You try to kill me again, I ain't gonna flinch," she told him.

Swank grinned. "Yeah, I know." He glanced at Boone. "Hey, she blow your top yet?"

Boone's expression didn't change. Swank laughed. "What did I _say,_ cat. Dynamite." He made an explosion gesture.

"Fucking hell!" Maggie yelled, stomping off from the counter.

* * *

"I think..." Boone said, staring at the inside of the Ultra-Luxe and watching her handing over their guns to the doorman, "that you make friends better than you let on."

"Just 'cause someone _knows_ you well enough to know what you're gonna do, don't make them _friends,"_ Maggie growled.

"I can't tell if they're impressed I've lasted this long or surprised at you being so nice to me," he said. "Maybe both."

"Shut the fuck _up,_ we're in enemy territory―" Maggie whispered, pinching him roughly on the arm and leading him into the casino.

Went without saying she was nervous. _Mumble-grumble, hiss, bitch._ Her brain was firing off every single thing she could think about Marjorie and her people― _fuck,_ she didn't even wanna give the woman a name, she hated thinking about the goddamn cannibals as actual people. Better they be _boogeymen_ in her mind, than people she might actually have to _care_ about.

But if she was here, she _knew_ what she was gonna do. A little more _cash on delivery,_ like they'd had back in Nelson. Maggie fought a grin. It was gonna be _fun._

Marjorie knew she was coming and held her hands up in defeat, staring at the ceiling. "I'm on your side," she told Maggie. "I'm not fighting."

"I'm here to make sure," Maggie replied. "You _know_ what I'm gonna ask."

"We don't eat people," Marjorie said, her brows drawing together and face pained. "Haven't done that in ten years, you _know_ that―"

"Yeah?" Maggie's hands were shaking as she crossed her arms and stared at the older woman. "Where's that butcher of yours, what's his name now... you know _who_ I mean."

Marjorie sighed. "Mortimer," she said. "He's on the desk, out there." She pointed to the side.

"Can I take this as your contribution, then?" Maggie asked her. "You ain't gonna play around and try to act _hoity?_ Maybe beg for mercy?"

"No," Marjorie said. She lowered her hands a little. "I know our people fought each other. If one man buys us peace, then you can have him. _One_ man, Maggie." She held up one finger. "No more."

"Your people in on that?" Maggie glanced back the way they'd come.

"The right people know you're here," the woman strained out. "It won't be a problem."

"Deal." Maggie tugged on Boone's sleeve and walked away.

"The _hell_ was that about?" he asked, confused.

"It's a show," she said, reaching down and pulling a dress cane from a holder as they passed through the doors. "You get front row seat."

"A mystery, maybe," he muttered.

Maggie turned and beamed a smile at him, and tapped her head with the cane. "A _murder_ mystery, actually," she said, striding over to the desk and bringing the cane around as hard as she could on the top-hat-wearing motherfucker that had tried to eat Carla.


	47. Que Sera

Note: Have a lot on my mind but I'm glad to see Maggie moving forward, you guys. Be prepared for the end. Pretty sure there's only one chapter left (and it's a Boone chapter, so might be a moment)

* * *

"You see that light over there?" Maggie asked Boone, pointing out at the distance. "Before New Vegas, that light meant danger." She shifted her position from the top of the truck outside of Freeside, sitting with her legs crossed. The light in the distance was a barrel outside of the mountains to the south, a lone fire burning in the dark. It drew the eyes because of how isolated it was, snug against the range and nearly hidden from their view.

"What kind of danger," he asked, turning his neck briefly. He was standing on the hood of the truck, his rifle out and watching the distance.

"The Kin would light it when home was under attack." She looked up at the stars. "Anyone out here would know to come home as soon as possible."

Boone didn't reply. Maggie sighed to herself. Killing Mortimer made her think about the old days, about how things had been with Sal and the cannibals and Nero and Carla and the rest. Made her remember _more_ things that she didn't want to. _Fuck me._

"I..." she put her legs out in front of her. "I don't _want_ to remember, you know? Everything back then. But I _have_ to."

He moved up onto the trailer of the truck and crouched down beside her, putting his rifle to the side as he leaned down and gave her a quick hug. "It's alright to remember," he said, softly.

"I..." she said. "I only latched onto―onto Nero because he was stronger than Sal, and I hated Sal." She ran a hand over her face. "And now― _that_ bastard is actually proud of me, and I know it's because I'm doing all this shit for Vegas―" She snorted. "After all the shit _he_ did, I'm starting to feel like I ought to forgive him. That ain't _right."_

Boone patted her hair once and stood back up, leather armor creaking. "Did your mom forgive him?"

Maggie's hands clenched. "Yeah," she said, her voice strained. Yeah, Carlotta had forgiven him. She never said a bad word against him to the girls. Never put down any person, no matter how _awful_ they'd been to her. At some point, Maggie was sure she'd even _appreciated_ him. Without Sal, she wouldn't have Maggie or Carla―and she _did_ love them. Just...

Maggie sighed. "I don't think I have the selfless attitude that my mom did," she muttered. "Don't think I oughta. It got her _killed."_

Boone made a thoughtful noise. "You got the best of both worlds," he said, after a moment.

She supposed that was right. She'd gotten the best of her mother―the pressing need to do _better,_ the forgiving of others―and the best of Sal, which mostly just meant she was surly and _psychotic._ Maggie gave an exasperated laugh.

"Your past is a hell of a lot more interesting than mine," he added, lifting the rifle to examine something in the distance. His mouth curled up into a smile.

She rolled her eyes. "It's this goddamn desert," she growled. "The fucking _Mojave._ Makes or breaks people."

"Yeah," he agreed.

Maggie stared off into the distance for a moment, before standing up and moving off of the truck. "Alright, I guess we ought to get out of here."

The next stop―she grumbled under her breath. If she'd known she had to deal with literally every person in the stupid Mojave, she would've just up and left. Yes Man said go deal with the Great Khans. Yes Man was following _House's plan_ because it was a _good_ one. _Yes Man_ was getting on her _fucking nerves!_

And that wasn't even the end all―she still had the Dam to clear out―Maggie blinked away the weariness in her eyes, and set her mouth. She wasn't thinking about _that,_ right now. _Not right now._

Boone followed her as she struck out west, toward the mountains. He didn't say a single word as she groaned and grumbled her way through the brush. ...She did catch him smiling at her, though.

She had to hide her own smile, back. Right now was time for business, not fooling around. She'd get her reward, if they both managed to make it out of this horseshit alive. Had to get this shit done with the Khans first, then march on the Dam and boot Caesar in the ass with her size eights, and then― _after_ that, she might relax. Maybe she might change her mind about dragging a little shit of her own about the Strip, like Sal had.

 _Fuck_ him. She _wasn't_ gonna forgive him. Wouldn't name a kid after him, _either._ Didn't deserve it.

Maggie watched Boone from the corner of her eye for a moment, then turned herself to the west and moved faster. The _sooner_ they got this done―

 _The better._

* * *

She stopped herself before she went over the edge of the rocks, skidding to a stop and knocking some smaller pebbles to the bottom of the canyon. Balanced herself on the rock before she set her feet in and pushed forward.

The Great Khan in front of her was studying her movement. Maggie glanced to the side quickly and saw the leader watching from the door of his longhouse, arms crossed and face without emotion. Boone was standing against the edge of the house, as well. He was watching her with that trademarked half-smile and exasperated expression he always had.

This was horseshit, but it was horseshit she was used to, so she wasn't _entirely_ out of her element. A test. Because she knew her limitations, and because she was acutely aware of her abilities. Papa Khan wasn't fond of the Kin nor the NCR; between her and Boone, she knew it would be an uphill battle. The best she could do was try to get a foot in the door with her fighting skills, or "plan b" and straight up murder him―and she didn't want to kill him, really, she wasn't _that_ stupid or psycho―

Well... _maybe_ she was. He'd irritated her enough with his long-winded speech about the Khans, and made her angry with his comments about Vegas, for her to want to kill him. But she was _determined_ to do better. Making this right without killing anyone would be an accomplishment for her.

She _needed_ that little boost to her ego, right now. A notch on her belt to prove she was better than what she'd been, before.

Maggie's fists snapped up and jabbed at the Khan, pushing him and herself away from the edge. She landed a few good punches at his collarbone but did little damage. He moved left, then right, and his fist hit her square in the temple, knocking her flat on her ass.

 _Fucking hell!_ Maggie's head rang, the old bullet wound aggravated and acting up, as she laid stunned on the ground.

"I doubt very much that you'll be able to repel the Legion like this," a slow voice came over the air.

Maggie blinked, standing up with a wobble and staring down the Khan leader. She bared her teeth and put her fists up again, then uncurled a finger and crooked it at the man she'd been fighting. He stood there, without reacting, his hands still held up in fists.

 _"Let's go!"_ she yelled at him, setting her feet. "I ain't _got all fucking day!"_

He glanced at Papa Khan, drawing her attention to the Khan leader again. While she was distracted his foot swept out and took her down again, knocking her to the side and onto her arms. She growled, flipped herself onto her back and put her boots up into the air, connecting with and knocking him backward with both feet. He moved with the hit but caught himself, and Maggie propelled herself upward with the momentum, landing on her feet and bringing her fists up again.

"I can see you've got the endurance," Papa Khan said, amused. "But have you the power?"

She felt tired, but she wasn't about to give up on this. After dealing with the Families on the Strip, and every single last bit of horseshit that had happened, after Yes Man telling her to deal with every last person in the goddamn wasteland―

She _was_ gonna _own_ this goddamn _stupid_ desert. Even if she died trying. Hell― _especially_ if she died trying!

Boone was watching as she moved her feet back into a position to push herself forward, arms up and finger-less gloves crackling with dried blood that'd seeped from her busted knuckles. She watched the Khan as he moved toward her in a charge, intent to end the test.

At the last moment, Maggie's leg came up and a knee went right into the man's crotch, her forehead directly impacted his, and she pushed him backward with both hands on his shoulders. He stumbled, making a pained noise, and she hit him with her left, then her right fist. Pushed him away from her with repeated punches to the mouth, blood from his split lip splattering her cheek.

Maggie stepped backward and stayed upright, her vision swimming and head still ringing. She bared her teeth at them both, spat out a little blood from biting the inside of her cheek, and cracked her neck.

"Who needs power," she told the Khan leader, "when you're _fucking invincible."_

Papa Khan laughed, his beard splitting to reveal big teeth, his eyes crinkling. "Being invincible doesn't mean you _can't_ die."

"Like to see who could take me down," she muttered, flexing a fist. She gritted her teeth and stared at her opponent. "And I didn't schlep my ass all the way out to Red Rock Canyon to get a _goddamn lecture!"_ she snapped, before turning her attention onto Papa Khan. _"If I die,_ _I **die!**_ And that _ain't happened,_ yet!"

If she _did_ die... if she did manage to make it to Galilee, and join Carla and her mom―Maggie ground her teeth together. At _this_ point, she knew it was going to happen. She could die. All her enemies were dead beyond the Legion and they were no more special than any of the others she'd taken down―

But it _was_ still possible. And she still had to be careful... for _Boone's_ sake, at least.

"Very well, Courier." Papa Khan nodded to her. He turned to the other Khan and ordered him down, then faced her again. "You possess a force of will that is agreeable. Go 'round the canyon, help my people, and talk to me again."

She stomped away from the longhouse with a grumble and clenched fists.

* * *

Half of her work was already done. It was ironic, she thought. When Boone was up on the cross, she'd freed or put down the others mostly to spite the Legionaries. _Fucking assholes._ One of the men up on the cross had been the drug runner for the Khan producers, and they were happy to see her claim credit. Maggie ignored the spacey idiot Jack and focused on Diane. Ran a delivery out to Vault 3 while Boone waited for her outside, minding the psychotic Fiends that weren't allowed inside.

She remembered that the Kin didn't have "guard dogs" like that. Anyone stupid enough to go psycho on another Kin was usually skinned alive and left as a disgusting reminder outside of the Office Park. _You don't fuck over the Family._

Once the delivery was done, she talked to another Khan with a stupid name and got him into the Followers by patiently dealing with Julie. With Boone around, Julie was a little more calm toward her. No idea why, though. Maybe she realized Maggie wasn't a boozehound, finally.

Julie'd heard about the dealings with the NCR and the King, and her attempt to calm that mess had made the Follower's efforts with the Garretts come to a stand-still. So Maggie dealt with that, too, while she was in Freeside. She wished the King would talk to her again. Missed him giving her advice. Even if Boone thought otherwise, Maggie still didn't feel like she had that many friends in the world.

Boone's boots crunched on the debris in the street behind her and she sighed, stopping herself. Her chest hurt a little. She'd pissed off so many people, lost so many she'd thought were allies... starting with Carla. Might do her a little good to see where Boone stood with her, get the reassurance.

Good to see where they were _going,_ too.

 _Probably Hell in a handbasket, knowing me._

"Hey," she said, turning to him.

Maggie watched Boone turn to her with that funny little smile of his. "Yeah?" he said.

"When... when this shit at the Dam is over," she said, slowly. "After we get the Legion out of the Mojave."

"What about it?"

"What are you gonna do?" She searched his eyes for an answer to her own question.

"What do you mean," he asked, sounding a little confused.

"I mean," she said, putting a hand on her hip and staring him down, "what are you planning to _do_ after Vegas is free?"

The look he shot her made her stomach drop and heart flutter like cazador wings, uneven and fast. Dammit, she'd hoped―well, she was _certain_ she was gonna die on the Dam, and it'd hurt him bad when she _did―_

"I'm with you," he said, carefully. "I don't intend to leave, unless you want me to. We talked about that."

"I know," she grumbled. "I _just―"_

"Maggie," he said, smiling gently. His hands moved to her sides and he held her around the waist, leaning his cheek onto the top of her head. "Enjoy the _now,_ okay?"

She flushed and her hands moved to his hips, fighting the urge to wrap him up into a bony hug. "I'm trying," she mumbled, pushing away the urge to cry. "But if something _happens_ to me up there―"

"Nothing's going to happen to you when I'm watching out," he said, breathing into her hair. "You know that."

"Nobody's _that_ good at covering ass," she grumbled. "It's a _final_ battle. Maybe it's what I'm waiting for. When I'll be able to _finally fucking_ _die."_

He tightened his grip for a moment before letting her go, but wouldn't meet her eyes as she pulled away. Maggie sighed under her breath and turned back toward the wasteland. If she didn't die on the Dam, she didn't know what she was gonna do with him. Being "better" was taking all of her energy and she didn't know that she wanted to keep it up, if she didn't _have_ to.

"If you _do_ die," Boone said, his voice a little strained, "I'll be with you."

Maggie shot him a sharp look. _"No,"_ she said, firmly. "No, I don't want you going off all half-cocked and getting yourself _killed._ Maybe for Carla, but not for me. You _promise_ me that."

He still wouldn't look at her. "I don't―" he started, his voice thick.

Maggie grabbed his jacket and pulled him to face her, baring her teeth at him. _"You fucking promise me,_ Boone! _I mean it!_ I helped _you_ because you _needed_ it, and I _ain't about to let that go to fucking waste!"_

Boone stared at her blankly for a moment, then blinked repeatedly and nodded. "Okay," he said, breathily. "Okay, Maggie."

"Good," she said. She looked back at the gates of the Strip, then growled. "Now let's get the fuck outta here."

 _Que sera, sera, right?_ Maggie stomped her way out of Freeside, heading back toward Red Rock, and tried to keep her mumbling inaudible.

 _Not if I can fucking help it._


	48. Sera

Note: I don't want to disappoint. Please leave a comment. Don't gotta use your name if you don't want.

Especially need commentary on the very end, thank you!

* * *

He'd promised her he wouldn't get himself killed. That he wouldn't go off fool-headed and get himself destroyed for her. She wanted what good work she'd done to show. He thought it was because she'd said she loved him.

She did love him. He knew it. She cared about him and she didn't want him to die, even if she herself did die.

But he didn't want to think about her dying.

Instead, Boone stared out over the Dam and tried his damnedest not to look at Maggie, who was grumbling like a generator about to run out of fuel. Tried not to see that spark in her eyes he loved so much, the hope that was still there but now tempered by her hopelessness.

She _knew_ she was going to die. He hated to see it.

The Dam was brimming with activity. People running about, engineers moving to higher ground, rangers setting up for the battle. Boone could hear the slow rumble of the generators under the concrete, almost as if no other sound was in the air.

 _No thoughts._

If only it were that _easy._

Maggie strode forward, looking impressive in her leather armor. The black leather against the white sky made her look like a silhouette, a shadow bringing pain and suffering to the Legion bastards across the way. She stood taller today than she ever had before, her chin-length auburn hair blowing away from her face and her steps sharp but not the childish stomp she'd made so often, before. Maggie... was _all_ business today.

He wished she didn't have to be. He wanted her to be the vulnerable Maggie he remembered from before. Like when she'd first cried on his shoulder and he'd had no idea what to do with her.

Because she was Carla, then, and Carla hadn't cried on his shoulder since the first night he'd met her. When he'd wanted _Carla..._ but he'd gotten _Maggie._

Boone wondered for a moment what the man she'd married thought when he'd gotten Maggie instead of Carla. Maybe Benny hadn't cared. Boone _did._ He'd loved Carla, but... but _Maggie_ was the real deal. Maggie, the scruffy little redhead she'd ditched to hang out with him that one wonderful night on the Strip before leaving it behind, forever.

He wished Carla hadn't _lied._ All of this was none of his business but for that lie. All of this could have been distant rumors, echoes in the wasteland, if he hadn't been associated by family.

And maybe _Maggie_ wouldn't have been shot, if _he_ hadn't taken Carla away.

"You paying attention?" Maggie asked, roughly. He snapped his head up and blinked at her, trying to get his mind to behave. Maggie rolled her eyes at him and put a hand on her hip. "Look, you _jerk,"_ she said, pointing across the Dam. "See the smoke?"

He glanced out into the distance, a sick feeling coming up into his throat. He could see the smoke rising from the camp on the other side. The Legion was gearing up for war. They would stream from the camp like radroaches through a broken wall, like rain through the clouds, like a bullet through a rifle barrel. They would march and they would kill and they wouldn't think _twice_ about destroying everyone―because that was _what they did._

And Maggie was ready to meet them, so long as her "people" rose to meet with her. She would stare them down and bite and kick and slash, and she would not let herself get taken alive.

It made him feel a little better. He _knew_ she'd go down swinging.

If the Mojave didn't come to help―no, he didn't need to think about _that._ He didn't believe anyone could say no, in this matter. Not to Maggie, anyway. Not when she got into your face like she did, and not when she showed her willingness to die for anyone's cause but her own. People respected someone so willing to give themselves away. someone willing to do good without a care to their own safety.

A _martyr._ What he would have been, if Maggie hadn't come along.

She was as selfless as her mom. And she was going to get herself _killed._

"Maggie," he said, strained. She turned her brown eyes onto him, catching the light rising in the east. The light the Legion was sure would show them victory, because it was going to be in the eyes of their opponents―

"Craig," she replied, without emotion. "Thank you."

He was caught off-guard. "What?"

 _"Thank_ you," she repeated. "I don't think I'd be standing here if I hadn't had _you_ watching my stupid ass back when I hit Novac. _Thank you_ for making _me_ want to get better." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, uselessly. The wind whipped what hair was left around her head, making her look more or less a mess.

Boone sighed, unable to stem his feelings. "Maggie," he said, again, sadly.

"Don't feel sad," she said, her mouth twitching up. "This is probably the _end_ for me. But, _shit..."_ she pushed her hair up onto her forehead and held it there, framing the old bullet wound. "You'll get to watch me kick some _major Legion ass!"_

He tried to smile back and failed. "I don't _want_ you to die," he said, as firmly as he could.

"I know," she said. "But if it happens, it happens. Ain't much we can do about it but stick to the _plan,_ right?" She grinned a little. "Hell, _I'm_ glad this shit is almost _over!"_

For a moment he stared at her, without moving. Then he reached out, wrapped her up into the biggest hug he could manage, and breathed out carefully. "Try _not_ to," he said. _"Please."_

"I don't want to, _either,"_ she muttered, trying to peel his hands off her head. "Ow! _Fuck!_ Lemme go, _jerk!"_

"I don't want to," he repeated, and she laid a punch into his kidney. He was forced to let her go.

"It'll be alright," she said, turning her gaze to the Dam. "Just... shit, I guess just keep my ass from _drowning,_ okay?"

Boone sighed and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.

"Would be a fucking _shame_ to end it all in such a pussy way," she growled, cracking her neck and pulling out her shotgun.

He couldn't reply. Only watched and waited. Maggie moved forward and he followed her.

"Maggie," he said, quietly.

"What?" she asked, her attention on something else.

"I _love_ you, Maggie," he said, staring at the back of her head.

She turned one eye on him, smiled in that cock-sure way she had, and raised an eyebrow. "You better keep your _promise,_ then," she said, before her feet hit the walkway in a hurry. "I don't wanna have to _haunt_ your stupid ass."

* * *

Maggie stormed up the walk toward the other side of the Dam, the only sound in the air the ringing of bullets, the screams of the dying, and the loud shriek of her cursing cutting through the air like a bell.

Through the small waystation in the middle of the Dam, Maggie gave no quarter. She hacked and slashed and stomped about with stimpaks hanging off her arms where she'd jammed them, the metal dangling from her leather like an ornament. Her hands moved, dropping the shotgun on the table with the terminal and removing her machete, running fingers along the blade. Blood seeped into one eye, making the whole of it red, and she glanced at Boone. He made a pained face at her.

"What?" she asked, mock-innocently. She held up the machete and grinned maniacally. "I'm having _fun,_ man!"

"I don't doubt that," he said. He'd just watched her half-scalp a Legionary with one swipe, and heard her triumphant laughter when the man's helmet went careening into the air.

 _"Aww,"_ she mocked, sounding oblivious to his concern. If she was trying to make him care _less,_ so he wouldn't hurt when she died―

It _wasn't_ going to work. He would always care. Even if she ripped out his heart. He was glad she'd brought him along instead of making him wait somewhere. It could be worse―he could be sitting in the Lucky 38, waiting for her to come back in pieces―

"Maggie," he said, grabbing her wrist and staring down at her. "Don't be stupid."

She smiled up at him, an honest smile. The same smile she'd given him when she told him she loved him. "I'm making up for all the bad shit I did," she said, tilting her head at him. He could see how flushed her cheeks were. _Denial._ It was all Maggie had, to survive the wastes... beyond himself. His mouth twitched a little. Beyond her protectors.

"Just don't pay too much debt at once," he said, slowly, and leaned down to fix a kiss on her lips. Maggie groaned, pushing back into him. His hand moved across her neck, grabbing the back of her skull and moving her closer.

She broke it off, abruptly, and moved across the room. "Let's make another _delivery,_ then!" she shouted, her attitude giddy. _"Cash only, **motherfuckers!"**_

She was Courier Six, after all. He couldn't help but snicker a little. _"Dammit,_ Maggie," he sighed.

 _"Hah!"_ she laughed, her eyes squinting in amusement as she slammed open the door and burst out like a boogeyman.

* * *

They approached the Legion camp in silence. The chaos of the Dam was left behind, and now the main assault on the Legate's camp was left. Maggie was nervous, twitching the machete against her thigh as they crept up onto the gate.

"Why is it so _quiet?"_ she muttered, glancing up at Boone.

"Ambush," he suggested, adjusting himself to hold his rifle up to his eye.

"Well, _shit,"_ she said, and he grinned despite himself. She glanced at him and stifled a laugh. "Alright, _fine,"_ she groaned, lowly. _"Craig."_

His mouth closed but the smile remained. Maggie stared up at him for a moment. "Okay," she said, suddenly becoming strained. "Time for a _Maggie_ plan."

If he was able to think any thoughts, he would have panicked. His military training took over, instead. Maggie opened the door and he swept the area quickly, noting the threats, motioning to her. She watched for a moment, then nodded to him.

Two shots and the men were down. Low growling from behind another gate brought a grumble but she moved into the camp, slowly and stealthily. Maggie listened with her ear against a wall and they both took down a group of dogs in a pen.

She made her way across the dip in the middle of the camp and he held back. Maggie might have been in people's face, but _he'd_ always been good at a distance―

She moved up the stairs across the camp. After a moment she fled back down them, moving quickly, and fell flat on her face after being chased by a man in heavy metal armor―

Boone's rifle swung around and shot at the man, repeatedly. Bought her time to move. Maggie moved around the camp, avoiding the swinging sword, cursing. More Legionaries moved into the fray and he did his best to watch her while taking out as many enemies as he could.

There were too many―he lost sight of Maggie for a moment, even if he could still hear her shrieks over the air, loudly and blatantly swearing. She was in trouble―

His rifle swung around again, finding her pushing back against the Legate as strong as she could manage. The sword swept around and pulled backward, and Boone's finger twitched on the trigger, trying to figure where to place his shot―

Maggie screamed, loudly. The sound filled his ears with pain. He remembered when she'd been pinned in Freeside. For a moment the world slowed down as he watched her turning away from the Legate, her back to the man.

Then the massive sword burst through the left side of her chest and she abruptly went quiet, arms and legs going limp around the blade that had invaded her body.

Boone's heart stopped.

His finger tightened.

The world sped up again with the bullet that sped over the ground and neatly took out the Legate, through the neck and out the other side with a glorious spray of gore.

Maggie's body slumped, suspended in the air by the blade, the Legate landing on his knees and his upper body bent backwards onto the dirt.

Nothing happened for almost ten whole seconds.

Boone pushed himself out of his temporary cover and moved to Maggie, his heart about to explode in his chest, feeling her neck for a pulse. He stimpaked her twice, then thrice, before trying to remove her from the blade. Her whole body spasmed under his hands.

 _No thoughts._

Maggie was still. The blade was almost too big to remove.

She was...

Boone breathed out.

When Carla died. He remembered what he'd seen. He remembered what he'd felt. He'd pushed it back for so long―even if he'd cried about it, after―and he'd kept back the feelings.

"Maggie," he said, softly. "Maggie."

 _Nothing._

Boone put a hand to her cheek, his forehead to hers, and leaned in, stilling himself from the wracking sobs he wanted to give.

She'd _expected_ it. She'd _warned_ him. She wanted him to live.

He pulled her body from the sword and collapsed onto the ground, fighting the emotion. His throat tightened, and he stemmed tears by blinking repeatedly. _"Maggie,"_ he groaned, wrapping himself around her.

It was a long moment later that she gasped out. Maggie's hand moved, pushing him away with a weak motion. She breathed in, then out, and made a long agonized groan. "Maggie?" he asked, incredulous.

She coughed blood onto her arm, the limb flopping around in front of her. Boone stumbled in his pockets for more stimpaks, jabbing her with one hand as she slipped from his grasp onto the ground. She laid limp, her breathing irregular, the open wound of the Legate's blade disgustingly obvious. He cringed in pain for her.

"Maggie, _please,"_ he pleaded, his hand pushing back her hair and staring at her unopened eyes.

She stopped breathing for such a long moment―the stabbing pain in his chest would kill him, he thought. Finally she drew another breath and coughed again.

"Hell..." she wheezed out, without opening her eyes. "I _am_ fucking invincible."

"Maggie," he said, trying to keep the awfulness out of his voice.

"Craig," she breathed out. "I wanna... go ahead. _...Okay?"_

 _"No!"_ he nearly shouted, clutching her to his chest. "No, no―"

"It's... _okay,"_ she said, laughing a little. She still wouldn't open her eyes. "It's a... a nice place. _You_ said... so."

"Maggie, if you die here, you won't be able to―" he racked his memory for something she would want "―you'll never get revenge on Dixon―"

It sounded lame. He grimaced at himself.

Maggie was quiet for a moment. "Hell," she muttered, finally. "I... forgot about that."

Boone held her for a long moment, before she stirred and pushed him away. "O... okay," she said. Still hadn't opened her eyes. "I'll stick around," she grumbled. "Don't _want..._ to."

"Maggie," he breathed, relieved.

She smiled, under his arms, and he sighed in relief.

She'd almost gone ahead without him. But she _hadn't._

"Fucking hell," she frowned, and she opened her bloodshot eyes to stare up at him. "I don't know... the way to Galilee, anyway."

Boone chuckled, and held her tightly, and thanked _God_ that she didn't.


End file.
